The Distant Metropolis
The memo from the department head, Mr. Halloway, was stapled to the top of the stack, the paper crisp and white against the yellowed, brittle spines of the 1942 census ledgers, and I stared at the bold font that demanded the digitization of the remaining pre-war records before the fiscal year ended, my left hand resting on the desk, fingers twitching with a rhythmic, involuntary spasm that I...
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