by Joann Humby

"In my more optimistic moments, I can imagine the phone ringing. I can imagine an anonymous email or a single sheet of paper slipped under my door. I can imagine the Smoker's ransom demand. 

And then I can't. Because I've got nothing to trade. Sure, I'd sell my soul, but how much is that worth? There was a time when it might have attracted a few bidders, but there's no one left."

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