The Wistful Atlas
Act I Huseyin Ozdemir stood before the Linotype machine with his hands steady, a fact that mattered more than the frost creeping over the cobblestones outside the window. I had worked the keys for three years, my fingers knowing the matrix of the metal as well as I knew the names of my children, yet the machine remained a beast that only answered to the foreman’s nod. The air in the workshop...
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