The Copy Paradox

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2026-06-02 15:42:40 -

The Copy Paradox

The widow smelled like money and grief, which in Neo-Los Angeles usually meant the same thing. I sat in her sky tower office on Level 180, looking out at the perpetual rain and the neon bleeding through the fog, and I listened to her tell me her story, and I tried not to think about the whiskey burning a hole in my stomach from last night's session. "My husband died three weeks ago," she said....

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