The Faded Sutra
Elias Thorne’s fingers, stained with the black grease of the stapler, pressed the final signature onto the termination notice. The ink was still wet, a dark smear against the stark white of the bureaucratic paper. He was forty years old, a Border Patrol Agent with twenty-two years of service, and he had just secured his pension. It was a clean exit. He had outmaneuvered the system, or so the...
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