The Distant Wound
Do you know what it costs to be clean? Estrella Loera asked the question to the wall of the factory, where the nutrient paste sloshed in vats that smelled of iron and burnt sugar. She worked the double shift, her hands raw and split, mixing the slurry that would keep the town alive and the poor marked. The machine hummed a low, constant note, a sound like wind in wires, though no wires were...
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