The Golden Myth
The stapler jams again, the metal teeth biting into the wet, gray pulp of the paper. You pull it apart, the mechanism sticky with old toner, and watch the ink smear across the settlement agreement for your mother’s estate. It is a small, ugly thing, a three-cent office supply, but it holds the weight of the last three years. The air in the Meridian Insurance server room is cold, recycled...
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