The Distant Machine
The letter was found in the coat pocket of a man who had not died, but simply stopped being present. It was written on lined paper, the ink smudged where a thumb had rested too long, or perhaps where a tear had fallen. The handwriting was cramped, urgent, the letters slanting forward as if the writer were running out of time, or breath. It was addressed to no one, or rather, to the air itself,...
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