The Distant Joke

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2026-08-24 10:17:28 -

The Distant Joke

Act I The inland empire stretches out in a grid of cracked concrete and dust, where the wind scours the paint from every fence and the sun bleaches the color from the rice paddies that step up the hillsides like a legal argument. It is a place of debt and delay, where the clock in the town square runs six minutes fast, a fact the residents accept as a kind of tax on their patience. I am Walter...

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