Lincoln Pulliam
Joined June 2021
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Stories (1/0)
The Colorless
Every morning at seven o’clock Mr. Tollet stood at his east facing office window on the 77th floor of his place of work, on Seventh Avenue, in district 77 and sipped his dark roast from his white porcelain cup while looking out at the morning commuters. He watches with pale eyes as the men and women move carefully about on the grid that used to be Seattle. Not that it resembles anything of that chaotic mess. No winding roads or cul-de-sacs. Elevation is a thing of the past as well. Just a flat plane of perfectly square blocks for miles and miles. When he looks across the street he can see a mirror image of the building he is standing and be reassured. Satisfied, Mr. Tollet takes another sip.
By Lincoln Pulliam3 years ago in Fiction