The Note on the Table
"Do not open. I know you're reading this." The sentence sat on a piece of scrap paper, the back of a grocery list, and it had just dismantled everything Ray Kowalski believed about the world. Ray lived in Apartment 3A of 2147 East 79th Street. He was a man of habits—rigid, unyielding habits. He worked the graveyard shift at a UPS depot, a place of cardboard and fluorescent lights. He came home...
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