Opening the locker
He gripped the stiff handle and yanked. The locker groaned, screeching as the hinges reluctantly gave way. Dust billowed outward.
Inside lay folded clothes, uneven stacks of canned goods, and on top, a battered notebook. Its edges were frayed, the cover worn smooth by countless hands. Kevin’s heart leapt—this was no ordinary stash. It was someone’s personal record.
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