The Pale Meridian
The letter from the Postmaster General was three pages long, typed on heavy cream stock, the ink already fading in the harsh light of the lamp. It stated that the Meridian Station, being redundant in the new network layout, would be closed by the first of February. I read it twice, then signed the receipt form with a steady hand. I was thirty-two years old, a telegraph operator, and I wanted to...
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