The Golden Myth
"You left the gate open again." Elias did not answer. He was already in the truck, the engine coughing a blue plume into the thinning air of the high desert. The wind was a physical thing, a hand pressing against the glass, testing the rusted frame. He had been a toll collector for twenty years, a man of fixed points and fixed times, but today the map in his glovebox was a different kind of...
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