The Golden Circuit
March 14th I have counted the hours since the last time my fingers obeyed me, and the number is forty-seven, which is a bad number for a boy who is trying to build a golden circuit in his head, a thing of intricate gold and copper that will prove to my father that I am still sharp, still worth the cost of the rent and the medicine and the long drives upstate. The room at St. Jude’s is white and...
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