The Desert of the Double
The phone rang at seven on a Sunday morning, a sound that felt like a rupture in the heavy, dust-laden air of my trailer. I lay there for a few moments, listening to the wind scour the desert floor, a sound like a thousand broken engines humming a dirge for the forgotten. When I finally answered, the voice on the other end was devoid of any human inflection. "Someone is doing your job," it...
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