The Distant Metropolis
Prague in the twenty-second century is a city of printed streets, where the cypress knees of the bayou corridors rise from the damp soil like the joints of a buried giant, and the humidity hangs so heavy in the air that it ruins the film on any camera you dare to open. The dome city hums with the low, constant vibration of the hydroponics pumps, a sound that settles into the bones of anyone who...
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