The Golden Circuit
The caliper slipped. It fell from my fingers, clattering against the iron grating of the scaffolding, and the sound was louder than the wind. I did not pick it up. I stood there, swaying slightly, watching the tool roll to the edge of the platform. Below, the mud was black and churned by the October rain. I am forty-two years old. My hands have been shaking for a month, but today they stopped....
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