The Wistful Voyage
"The order is final, Elias. Digitize and shred by Friday." The words hang in the air of the office, sharp and cold against the backdrop of the afternoon sun filtering through the dusty blinds. You do not look up from the ledger in your hands. The paper is brittle, yellowed, smelling of mildew and old ink. You know the texture of it better than the skin of your own face. You have spent twenty...
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