Memory arrives in wet sand, unsent letters, and rain-ruined margins, each flashback a palimpsest proving that beginnings are always revisions. The prose is spare, obsessive, almost tactile; sentences end in hyphens the way projects end in "needs more." Yet beneath the paralysis lies a quiet revelation: perfection is not the absence of flaws but the deliberate preservation of potential. When the narrator finally walks out, he leaves the keys on the desk-an intentional splinter in the post-so the room, for the first time, is honestly finished.
A literary novella for readers of Nicholson Baker's The Mezzanine, Teju Cole's Open City, and Jenny Offill's Dept. of Speculation. Perfect for book-club debates on perfectionism, remote-work loneliness, and the secret erotics of office supplies.
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