The Faded Apartment
The printer in the corner of the office hummed with a low, tectonic groan, a sound that Martin had long since ceased to hear and now merely felt in the marrow of his shinbones. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days had begun to bleed into one another, forming a viscous, grey slurry that coated the walls of the Departmental Archive. Martin sat at his desk, a rectangle of laminate...
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