The printer hummed, content to continue spitting out the
pages of the board book he was going to spend the whole Saturday assembling.
Jeff sat on the floor of the copy room, reading Hemingway. The regular
workings of the office device only served to send him deeper into the book’s
world. He left his lowly spot on the floor of the empty office building, and instead
lived a life of words like Action, and Decision, and Courage. All these manly
things. But he was still on the floor waiting for the printer to finish so he
could bind the books.
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