The Faded Frontier
The static on the old radio in the corner of your office has not been random for three weeks, a low, grinding hum that feels less like electricity and more like the sound of teeth grinding in a dream, a sound that seems to seep through the plaster and settle into the marrow of your bones as you sit at your desk, the fluorescent lights flickering with a sickly, intermittent pulse that casts your...
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