The Golden Downtown
The pencil snapped against the drafting table, leaving a jagged shard of graphite in my hand. I looked up from the schematic of the Golden Downtown bridge, the ink still wet on the load-bearing calculations, and watched the rain streak the window of my office on the fourteenth floor. It was November, 1924, and the city below was a gray smear of industry and ambition, indifferent to the fact...
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