The Golden Myth
The paper was thin, almost translucent, and it smelled of sulfur and old sweat. I held it up to the light in my small office, the one that overlooked the cinder blocks of the factory floor. It was a letter from the union, a standard notice of grievance regarding boiler pressure logs. But it wasn’t the union’s seal that caught my eye. It was the ink. It was gold. Not the cheap yellow of...
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