The Golden Mirror
You are Philip Prosser, and you are forty-two years old, and you are currently being told that your badge is a stain on the town of Oakhaven, a fact delivered by the silence of the butcher’s wife as she slides a wrapped package of mutton across the counter without meeting your gaze, the meat pale and cold under the fluorescent hum that seems to vibrate in the fillings of your teeth. The fog...
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