The Distant Summer
The scanner head hangs low over the page, a black rectangle of plastic that smells of hot dust. You are Mara, thirty-two, and you have been holding this document for six hours. The paper is soft, too soft, like wet tissue. You want to finish the digitization of the 1994 municipal records by Friday. You need the promotion. The promotion pays forty-five thousand dollars a year, enough to pay off...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση