The Faded River
The meeting room smelled of stale coffee and the faint, metallic tang of anxiety that seemed to permeate the drywall, a scent that had become so pervasive in our office after the reorganization that we had stopped noticing it, or perhaps we had simply accepted it as the new baseline of reality, the way one accepts the hum of an air conditioning unit in a summer house, a constant, low-frequency...
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