The Golden Master
The clock on the wall had ticked for twenty-two years, four months, and three days since I first punched in, and now it seemed to tick for no one at all. I counted the seconds in the fog-choked customs house, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and old paper, waiting for the pension vesting date that would allow me to walk away before my knees gave out entirely. The silence in this...
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