The Golden Downtown
The screwdriver slips, biting into the brass housing of the escapement, and the sound it makes is a sharp, metallic shriek that cuts through the damp air of the shop. You watch the sliver of metal curl up, useless, and your hand, that stiffening, arthritic thing, trembles against the workbench. Outside, the fog presses against the windowpane, a thick, gray wool that muffles the street noise of...
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