The Faded Paradox
The notice lay on the kitchen table, its ink still wet, smelling of the cheap chemical solvent they used at the post office. It stated, in a font so thin it seemed to bleed into the paper, that my account at the Oakhaven Savings Bank was overdrawn by four pounds and twelve shillings. I picked it up. The paper weighed almost nothing, yet it felt like a brick in my hand, a heavy, cold thing that...
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