A page of The Leaf With One Side, a gamebook. Pick a line at the bottom to go on, or start at the beginning.
The Slot
Under the bridge, past where the bats come out, one seam in the concrete has a brass lip worn bright by something that is not weather. A slot. Over it, scratched with a nail, a small post horn with a plug in its bell.
Paper goes in. You never see who puts it in. It makes the sound a card makes sliding over a card.
One slip has stuck, half out. You draw it free. Cream stock, one line, a hand like your own, almost.
You could do this with your eyes shut. You are.
No stamp. No name. No address. It is not addressed to you. It is not addressed.
The slot is warm when you take your fingers away.
The book · Colophon and credits
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