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Ten minutes later I stood in a fetid, dingy alley before a gouged wooden door. I<br />
knocked six times, three fast, three slow, as instructed. An eternity passed before the<br />
door opened a crack.<br />
“Beowolf sent me,” I whispered. The craggy man stared at me with watery eyes, his<br />
bumpy chin finally nodding to me to follow him.<br />
He locked the door behind me. I took a deep whiff and fell to my knees. INK! The<br />
smell of ink. The machines were silent, but several small piles of newspapers lay<br />
around. I lunged at one and was met with a knee to the rib cage.<br />
“Not yet,” he growled. “First, we have a brew. Then, we negotiate price. And if you<br />
breathe a word of this, I kill you.”<br />
His fierce expression left no doubt in my mind. So we sat, drank, tossed around<br />
some numbers. I said I wanted back dates, as many as he had. I didn’t care how old<br />
the news was, I needed to finger and fold a goddamn newspaper. He said I get one<br />
copy, that’s it. He told me nothing of who his reporters were, only that he published a<br />
run every few days. Glaring, he asked if I owned a computer, if I browsed the Internet.<br />
I spit on the floor. He got up and hugged me. I let my gaze lovingly roam around the<br />
dimly lit room, as it waited for the machines to hum. He released me, pointed to the<br />
nearest pile.<br />
“The top one is yours, my friend. I am satisfied you are genuine. There aren’t many<br />
of us left.”<br />
“Tell me about it.”<br />
I paid him our negotiated fee, cautiously folded my treasure, and hid it beneath my<br />
coat. Fondling it, I skulked into the night. It took forever, stumbling to my place, as I<br />
kept glancing behind me. Inside, I flicked on the light, ripped off my coat, and carefully<br />
placed my booty on the kitchen table. The headline was “North Korea Fires Missile.” I<br />
flipped through it. More headlines, photos, comics, puzzles, and yes, a horoscope. I<br />
chewed each page, remembering what it was like when every newsstand and kiosk<br />
held the world’s secrets. I turned a page, saw Dilbert with his upturned tie, and began<br />
sobbing.<br />
<strong>Diverse</strong> <strong>Voices</strong> <strong>Quarterly</strong>, Vol. 1, <strong>Issue</strong> 1 & 2<br />
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