The Golden Downtown
The mortar tasted of copper and old rain, a flavor that clung to the back of my throat long after I had spat the excess into the gutter. I am Elias Thorne, and for the past three weeks, I have been the only man willing to put my hands into the wounds of the Golden Downtown. The district is not merely old; it is alive, a sprawling organism of brick and iron that breathes with a low, golden hum...
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