The Golden Farce
Act I Marguerite Sabatier had held the taxi medallion for three years, bought at the peak of the market when the dot-com bubble was still a fever dream, and now she sat in the cab with the engine idling, watching the soot from the reclamation yard settle on the dashboard like a fine, grey ash. The town of Vael was dying, not with a roar but with the quiet, suffocating weight of a tide that...
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