The Distant Summer
The brass key was cold, heavier than it looked, a weight that seemed to sink into the meat of my palm before it even registered. I held it up to the fluorescent tube above the filing cabinets, watching the light catch the tarnish, and for a second, my fingers did not move when I intended them to. There was a lag. A half-second delay, like a video feed with bad signal. I shook my hand out,...
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