The Wistful Grid

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2026-08-23 03:58:32 -

The Wistful Grid

October 14, 1998 The dust in my office has settled into a fine, grey powder that coats the spines of my books like a premature shroud, and I find myself unable to lift the brush that was intended to clear it, my hands trembling with a fatigue that has nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the slow, grinding erosion of my body. I am fifty-two years old, and for the first time in my...

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