The Pale Altar
I Giovanni Esposito looked at the stain on the page and knew it was the end, though the clock on the wall still ticked toward the winter deadline. He sat in the federal writers' project office, the air heavy with damp stone and old paper, and watched the pale fungal growth creep across the catalog’s final entry. The roof above had not been fixed, despite the warnings, and now the black soil of...
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