The Golden Greenhouse
Arthur, Arthur, you are making a scene in the corridor again, and the glass is sweating, and you are shouting at a man who has already left the building, which is the kind of thing that happens when the heat index breaks forty and the ventilation shafts in the Meridian Insurance Exchange are clogged with twenty years of dust and cigarette ash. You are standing in the glass-walled annex, the...
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