The Pale Mist
The fog is thick. It presses against the glass. You are alone. The clock ticks. The city sleeps. You do not. You work in the basement. Level four. The elevator stops here. No one else comes down. The air is cold. It smells of dust. And old paper. You count the files. Box after box. Name after name. You are a clerk. A small man. In a large world. You keep the records. You keep the secrets. The...
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