The Faded Frontier
Do you know what it feels like to hold a weight that does not belong to you? The loom in the shipyard annex was a heavy thing, iron and wood, smelling of oil and wet wool. I was twenty-four years old, and my hands were raw from the tension of the warp. The foreman, a man named Seamus with a face like a slab of slate, walked the floor with a whistle that cut through the humidity. He stopped at...
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