The Wistful Throne
The letter lay on the kitchen table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the apartment, the ink smudged where a tear had hit it, or perhaps where the paper had just been cheap. It was from the Department of Public Works, and the subject line, printed in that dry, administrative font that feels like it has been scrubbed of all human warmth, read: Notice of Funding Cancellation. I read...
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