The Golden Downtown
The pen in Elias Thorne’s hand was already wet with ink, the nib dragging a jagged, dark line across the intake form as if it were a wound that refused to close, the smell of ozone and burnt hair hanging thick in the air of the break room, a scent that clung to his skin like a second, invisible uniform he could not wash off no matter how many times he scrubbed his hands with the harsh,...
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