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Urban System in America - Chapter 134 - 133: ONE
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... p> Not the kind that blows from the lungs of gods— a cool breeze or turns pages of prophecy. No — this was real wind. Gritty. Smelling of sweat and smoke and wet soil, dragging dry leaves across cobblestones, nudging at torn posters on brick walls, stirring the smell of rust, soot, and wet linen. The distant clink of a broken lantern swinging from a rusted hook.
He stood in the middle of a forgotten street.
There were no studios here. No velvet drapes. No golden frames. Just sagg ...
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