The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-24 18:59:18 -

The ledger said fourteen hours a day, and I counted them like a man counting coins in a jar that was slowly being stolen from him, the ink on the page still wet and smelling of iron and damp wool. I was twelve years old, and my hands were already stained with the soot of the boiler room, a grime that worked into the whorls of my fingerprints until I looked less like a boy and more like a tool...

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