The Black Postmark
I was reading a proof on the night shift at the LA Times when she looked up at me and said, "You're still here." It was 11:30pm on a Thursday. The newsroom was empty except for her — Veronica Vale, proofreader, new hire, sitting at her desk going through the obituaries with the kind of concentration people usually reserve for reading their own wills. She had the kind of beauty that makes you...
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