The Wistful Asylum

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2026-08-17 19:12:44 -

The air in the basement tastes of rust and old paper. You sit in the corner. The chair is hard. The wood has worn smooth where your elbows rest. You have been here for a long time. Or perhaps it has only been an hour. Time is a loose thing down here. It slips through the fingers. You try to hold it. It spills away. You are a clerk. That is who you are. You have always been a clerk. You know...

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