The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-23 15:59:18 -

The watch is broken again. I know because the dust has settled on the workbench, a fine grey powder that did not exist an hour ago. It coats the tweezers, the magnifying lens, the small brass screws. It tastes like dry chalk on my tongue. I am fifty-eight years old. My hands, which once could assemble a movement from a bag of parts in the dark, now tremble with a violence that feels borrowed....

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