The Pale Bonsai
The train shudders to a halt in the gray, industrial throat of the town, and you step onto the platform with the weary precision of a man who has spent forty years aligning himself with the edges of other people’s expectations. You are a clerk, a keeper of ledgers, a man whose body has become a mere vessel for the transmission of data, your joints stiffened by the rigid posture of obedience,...
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