The Wistful Grid
Chapter One The canal colonies stretched out under a heat shimmer that turned the tussock grass into a trembling, silver sea, a vast and thirsty expanse where the water lines were drawn in red and white and the air smelled of wet mud and diesel. Priya Mukherjee stood at the head of the ferry queue, her boots sinking into the slurry as the engine of the barge coughed and sputtered, a sound like...
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