The Faded Bouquet
The memo was stapled to a manila envelope, the paper stiff with the humidity that always crept up from the basement stacks before the heating kicked in for the winter. I read it twice, my thumb tracing the rough, fibrous edge of the cardstock until the fibers felt gritty under the nail. It was a formal censure, issued by Dr. Aris, regarding my "deviation from standard cataloging protocols" in...
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