The Golden Downtown
The light in the reading room had turned the color of weak tea by the time the spire fell. I was sorting the 1948 zoning permits, my fingers black with graphite, when the floor jumped, a violent shudder that knocked the inkwell off the desk and sent a black star blooming across the paper. Outside, the sound was not a crash but a long, tearing shriek, like a rope snapping under immense tension,...
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