The Wistful Asylum
The eviction notice is taped to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a strawberry. It is a bright, cheerful red, and it mocks you with its sweetness. You are Mara, thirty-two, a junior archivist in a municipal building that smells of damp plaster and old paper. You want tenure. You need the permanent contract that will stop the landlord from changing the locks. What stands in your way is...
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