The Golden Downtown
Gunnar Strand was thirty years old and the foreman of the Ironworks, a man who measured the world in tons of steel and the cost of a coffin. He stood in the rain, looking at the old Golden Hall, and he wanted it gone. The building was a relic, a rotting tooth in the mouth of the modern port, blocking the space needed for the new hydraulic presses. His father, old Strand, the mill owner, stood...
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