The Miller's Ledger
I. Arthur Kowalski woke at five in the morning the way he always did—without an alarm, without hesitation, simply because his body had learned the rhythm of the mill and refused to forget it. He pulled on his work shirt, laced his boots, and walked the three blocks from his apartment on Fourth Avenue to the small shop he called Kowalski Tofu. The shop was twelve feet by fifteen feet. A grinding...
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