The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-22 11:36:26 -

The Pale Meridian

The smell of burnt pork and stale beer hung heavy in the air of the county fairground, a thick, greasy mist that settled into the wool of my coat and clung to the skin of my neck. It was a Friday night, the kind of damp, grey evening that makes the world feel smaller, compressed into the narrow lanes of the midway and the crowded stands of the grandstand. I was sitting in a plastic chair, my...

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