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Weekly Contest #162
It was a bleak morning in March. Dark and gloomy. A nor’easter was skirting up the coast – typical for a beach town at that time of year when it’s not quite spring, or not quite anything for that matter – the sidewalks rolled up for the winter and one bar in town open for those on unemployment to commiserate together. And it was a Tuesday. I was sitting at my desk on the third floor of the building where the town’s newspaper had published its weekly for over 150 years. It was a dusty old building with printer’s ink still clinging to the wall...
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