I make a living by helping people copy forbidden literature.
I recently took on a big order, and the pay was unnervingly generous.
When the manuscript was submitted, it was discovered that the client's apartment had been vacant for three years and was full of dust. The signature on the contract suddenly squirmed and deformed, pointing to another address in the city.
After tracking me down to the library basement, the administrator handed me a yellowed photo: "The person you are looking for died three years ago."
On the back of the photo, there is my own handwriting: "Don't believe what you see in the mirror."
When I went home and looked in the mirror, I took a step back and smiled weirdly.
