Customs Officer K
· 7 min read
K received the notice on a Tuesday morning. It wasn't handed to him directly but was, as usual, tucked amidst the endless pile of documents on his desk, as if it inherently belonged there. A thin sheet of paper, the printing slightly blurred, exuding the smell of cheap ink and some indefinable official odor. K was an ordinary customs calculation clerk in the Tax Building, responsible for processing import duties for goods from specific regions. He had held this job for many years, long accustomed to the monotony of numbers and the tediousness of regulations, precise as clockwork, and just as devoid of life.