THE DEAD SIGNAL
The woman came into my office on a Wednesday, which was good because Wednesdays were the only day of the week when I felt like I could handle other people's problems without wanting to leave the city. Thursdays I just wanted to drink. Fridays I was too drunk to care. But Wednesdays—Wednesdays I was functional. Her name was Diana Reyes. Thirty-two, black suit that cost more than my car, eyes...
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