The Distant Summer
The paper on the table was thin, brittle, and stained with the ring of a cold coffee cup that had sat there for three days. It was a personnel action form, typed in the sterile, sans-serif font of the Department of Border Security, and it asked for a signature in the line marked *Voluntary Separation Due to Insubordination*. I did not sign it. I stared at the ink, the way it had dried into the...
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