The Golden Maze
The letter lay flat on the steel table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the courtyard. It was a standard form, Federal Penitentiary Appeal Rejection, Number 409-B, typed in a font so small it seemed designed to be ignored. Warden Halloway stood behind the glass partition of the office, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference, while I stood on the wet concrete, my left hand...
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