The Gravity Debt
The recorder sat on the windowsill between us, its red light blinking like a small, unblinking eye. I had been sitting in this room for three hours now, telling a stranger about the way the numbers don't add up, about the dreams that are not mine. "You said something is wrong with the math," the reporter had written in his notebook. "Can you explain what that means?" I looked at my hands. They...
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