How the City Rids Itself
Harper Voss first noticed the flinch in February. She was at a gallery opening in Chelsea, a low-ceilinged space where everyone wore black and held wine like a weapon. A curator named Dominique was describing Harpers latest series, The Weight of Hours, to a small cluster of patrons. Harper stood three feet away, close enough to hear but not close enough to interrupt. Dominique was good at this....
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