The Distant Summer
Do you know what it feels like to hold a rifle that was never surrendered? Concepcion Renteria held the question in her teeth like a splinter. She was thirty-two, a senior data analyst at a firm that smelled of boiled instruments and old paper, and she wanted the promotion that was supposed to be hers. The morning fog had burned off by ten, leaving the air over the conventillos sharp and gray....
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