The Wistful Grid
October 12, 1998 The letter from Dr. Aris was on my desk, the paper thin and yellowing at the edges, the ink faded to a brown that looked like old coffee stains. I had read it three times, each time the words blurring slightly before my eyes, the doctor’s handwriting sharp and clinical where it said "immediate cessation of strenuous activity" and softer, almost apologetic, where it said "your...
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