The Girl (Late-Night Sketch)

The girl had been seventeen years old, his partner told him. Tom Warren, hunched over his desk, picked up the scrawled note found next to her hanging body:

“Nothing mattered in the end and in the end nothing mattered and nothing mattered in the end and in the end nothing mattered and nothing mattered in the end and in the end nothing mattered and nothing mattered in the end and in the end nothing mattered.”

Things were only making less and less sense as he grew older. He was sure at one point he understood, but that was a long time ago. Why?

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