The Pale Path
You wake with dust in your teeth. It is gray. Fine. It tastes of chalk and old paper. You spit into the sink. The water runs brown. You look in the mirror. Your eyes are red. Your hands shake. You are a junior archivist. You work in the basement of the municipal library. You have worked here for ten years. You are thirty-two. You are invisible. The air in the basement is still. It smells of...
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