The Distant Metropolis
The letter lay on the desk, the paper thin and brittle under the fluorescent hum. It was a rejection notice, standard form, no signature, just the cold stamp of the Ministry of Records. You read it twice, the words blurring as the air in the room grew thick with the scent of dust and old glue. Julian’s tenure application had been flagged for "emotional bias," a bureaucratic smear that meant...
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