The Distant Joke
The ledger lay open on the desk, its pages thick with the weight of recorded lives, and I stared at the signature line where the ink had begun to bleed into the fibers of the paper like a wound that would not clot. My left hand rested on the edge of the table, the knuckles white, the tendons standing out like wires under skin, and I waited for the tremor to pass, knowing it would not. The air...
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