The Distant Joke

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2026-08-25 09:40:05 -

The Distant Joke

Act I Homer Zorn’s hands were already slick with sweat before the whistle blew, the cold iron of the lever biting into his palms as he hauled the gate open to the blast furnace. He was thirty years old, and the debt for his brother Arthur’s lung treatment sat on his chest like a second skin, heavier than the coal dust that coated his clothes. The ironworks in the company town of Oakhaven ran on...

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