The Golden Visit
The air in the basement office tastes of dust and old copper. It is thick. It presses against your lungs. You are sitting at a desk that has been here for forty years. The wood is dark. It is scratched. You are a man of forty-two. You work in data entry. You are invisible. This is your normal life. It is quiet. It is safe. Then the lights go out. Not a flicker. A sudden, total absence. The hum...
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