The Golden Downtown
The elevator rose with a shudder that vibrated through the soles of my shoes, a low, subsonic hum that I had long since learned to mistake for the building’s air conditioning. I clutched the brass rim of the pocket watch in my breast pocket, its chain digging into the skin of my chest, a cold, metallic anchor against the rising tide of nausea. I was fifty-four years old, an actuary with...
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