Atoms
by Chris Morton
On the heavy door was a computerized pad and the man wiped at the surface, smoothing away the snow. He scratched at the newly formed layer of thin ice.
“Heat!” he said over the high-pitched sound of wind. “Heat, goddammit.” He breathed at the pad, condensing the ice. The man hit at the contraption and finally it lit up. “Heat,” he said, and the pad flickered and buzzed in response.
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This story appears in the collection Commercial1. To continue reading, click here.
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