The Golden Circuit
The date is 14th of October, though the calendar in the corner of my desk has been torn away, leaving only the inked numbers of the week. My father is in Bed 4 of St. Jude’s, his breathing a wet, rattling thing that I can hear from here, three floors down in the municipal archives, where the air smells of damp paper and old rust. I want to go back inside. I want to re-enter the sanitation...
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