The Golden Farce
Act I Farhad Bagheri was a man who owed money he did not have, a fact that sat in his chest like a stone he could not swallow. He was thirty-four years old, the overseer of a dye-house that smelled of indigo and rot, and he had spent the last three nights waking from the same dream: his golden pocket watch, the one his father had given him, ticking backward. In the dream, the sound was not a...
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