Gramble Thyssen was looking at the clock wondering when it would strike 5 p.m. so that he could leave. The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) was, as always, devoid of any "customers" and the silence preoccupied him: the hum of the air-conditioning, the occasional cough several aisles away, the shuffling of papers, or the creak of a chair. He was alone today in his cubicle - again - as Edith was out pregnant and George started showing premature signs of Alzheimer's and was rummaging in the tomb of his memories.
First Lines Contest 2018: Sophie's Playlist
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