The Weight of Constant Friction and the Quiet Erosion of Concrete Walls in the Desert Sun
CHAPTER 1: THE FRICTION LINE “You look me in the eye and you say that again, Corporal.” The voice didn’t shout. It didn’t need to. Master Sergeant Vance’s voice had the dry, scratching weight of gravel dragged over concrete, a sound native to the high-desert expanse of Twentynine Palms. He leaned down, his torso cutting…