The Distant Affair
The memo sat on my desk, its header stamped in the sterile, sans-serif font that Meridian Insurance used to signal the end of things. I read it twice, the paper feeling dry and brittle under my thumb, before I set it aside and looked at the silver cufflinks resting in the palm of my left hand. They were warm. Not hot, yet, but warm, a persistent, low-grade fever that had started the moment I...
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