The Golden Ritual
The brass badge in your hand is cold, heavier than it looks, and the engraving of the border seal is worn smooth by years of thumbs rubbing against it. You hold it up to the gray light of the base office, turning it over and over, a small, metallic ritual that has become your only prayer. It is Tuesday, the day you are supposed to be filing reports on the influx of undocumented workers crossing...
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