The Distant Journey
Chapter One Nazario Escobedo wiped the mud from the soles of his boots with a rag that had long since lost its color, the friction leaving a faint, gritty trail on the linoleum of the office. He was twenty-four, junior archivist at the Ministry of Memory, a title that sounded grander than the peeling paint of the walk-up apartment where he spent his nights listening to the radiator knock its...
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