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I lay on the cot staring up at the sickly pallor of the light-pollution hanging over Palo Alto. Off to my right, movement catches my eye. A rat is running along the telephone wire. That’s all that’s up at this hour: the rats and me. One the harbinger of disease, the other the diseased.

One Response to “Harbinger”

  1. Caripiton Says:

    You’re neither of these things, Mr. Arcanius.

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