The Dry Ground
The alarm went off at 5:30 the way it always did—shrill and indifferent, the same sound it had made every weekday for eleven years until the day the factory closed and the sound kept making anyway because the clock didn't know. Mike Kowalski reached over and slapped the snooze button and lay there in the dark listening to the trailer breathe. The heating system clanked. The refrigerator kicked...
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