The Faded Photograph
Act I Rolf Neumann, thirty-four years old and an overnight stocker at the Bavarian Agricultural Cooperative, woke with the smell of damp wool and old iron in his nose, a scent that clung to the back of his throat like a bad taste. He knew he was late; the clock on the wall, which had not been synced since the winter, read four minutes past six, while the digital display on his wrist, a gift...
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