The Wistful Grid
Chapter One The sound of the fluorescent tube flickering in the staff room was the only thing that had not changed since Isandro Villaseñor first walked these linoleum floors, a low, electric buzz that seemed to vibrate in the fillings of his teeth. He sat at the desk, the one with the chipped green paint near the handle, and wrote the date in the margin of the ledger, the ink bleeding slightly...
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