The Pale Letter
March 12, 1994 The notice was a slip of cream-colored paper, thin as onion skin, tucked into the crack of the window frame where the glass met the rotting wood of my apartment. I held it up to the weak afternoon light that filtered through the blinds, the kind of light that makes dust look like suspended snow, and read the words again, my thumb rubbing the edge until the fiber felt soft and...
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