The Page That Writes Back
The cursor blinked. That was all it was doing. A vertical line, black on white, blinking at a regular interval that Frank had never thought to measure but knew was approximately one second. Blink. Blank. Blink. Blank. It was the most honest thing in the room. Frank Kowalski had been staring at it for forty-seven minutes. He had written three sentences. He had deleted three sentences. He was now...
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