The Wistful Atlas
The pen in Miriam Merriweather’s hand trembled, not from the cold of the municipal hearing room but from the vibration that had settled into the molars of her jaw three days prior. She looked down at the petition, the ink smudged where her thumb had pressed too hard against the paper, and then she looked up at the table where Alderman Vance sat, his suit tailored to a precision that seemed to...
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