The Pale Bridge
The receipt from the hardware store lay on the kitchen table, its ink smudged where my thumb had pressed too hard. I stared at the line items: two rolls of graph paper, a laser rangefinder, a set of fine-point pens, and a can of India ink, totaling forty-two dollars and fifty cents. The cashier, a boy with braces, had asked if I needed anything else for my "project," and I had only nodded,...
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