The Wistful Campus
The letter said the chair was tenured, the salary was modest, and the building was falling apart, but it was the orchid that made Elias Thorne sign. He stood in the rain-slicked quad of St. Jude’s University, the air thick with the smell of wet rot and old paper. In his breast pocket, wrapped in oilcloth, sat a single white phalaenopsis, the only thing in the world that did not decay. Elias was...
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