The Faded Frequency
The date is November 14, 1998, and the air in the basement of St. Jude’s Hospital tastes of copper and ozone, a metallic tang that coats the back of my throat and settles deep in the lungs where it refuses to be coughed out. I have been down here for three days, ignoring the evacuation orders that were posted on the main entrance and the frantic phone calls from the administration, because I...
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