The Distant Machine

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2026-08-21 13:47:43 -

Dear Margaret, You left the coat behind. It hangs on the hook by the door. The wool is thin now. You wore it too long. The elbows are frayed. The color is gone. It is just brown. I am writing this from the intake center. The air here smells of ozone and old paper. It is cold. The machines hum. They hum constantly. A low, steady thrum. It vibrates in your teeth. You do not remember the coat. I...

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