The Golden Farce
Act I The outer boroughs of New York moved with the slow, grinding weight of a machine that had forgotten its purpose, the canal water holding the sky in a mirror that cracked only when a barge passed, reflecting the soot-stained brick and the iron ribs of the docks. Vernon Yancey stood at the edge of the Shimmering Expanse, a localized zone where the air hummed with a low, physical pressure...
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