The Golden Harbor
The air in the basement office of the Department of Human Resources is always recycled, stale, and tastes faintly of copper and old paper. You sit in the ergonomic chair, the mesh back cool against your spine, while the fluorescent lights hum a low, electric B-flat that seems to vibrate directly in your molars. Across the metal table sits Mr. Vane. He is a small man, precise in his gray suit,...
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