The Golden Ritual
The first thing I counted was the hours. There were nine of them left until the municipal clerk’s office locked its steel doors, and I had four miles of gravel road to cover, a truck with a leaking radiator, and a left hand that felt as though it had been filled with wet sand. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I am trying to sign a deed before the town decides it knows better than the...
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