The Faded Dust
"Sign here, or the file goes back to the bottom of the pile, and we both know what happens to the bottom of the pile." The director’s voice was a dry scrape, like sandpaper on unpolished brass. Ernestina Hinojosa stood at the head of the long table in the observation blister, the curved glass behind her showing the dune country reclaiming the road, a landscape of rust and grey shifting in the...
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