The Distant Journey

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2026-08-24 21:30:49 -

The memo was three lines long, typed on cream-colored stationery that smelled of old dust and lemon oil. It denied my request for overtime hours. I read it twice, the second time to ensure the ink hadn’t blurred, and then I folded it into a square small enough to fit in my breast pocket. The archive basement was cold, a damp chill that seeped through the wool of my cardigan and settled in my...

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