The old building is empty now. In my mind, it still bustles.

There were stories to be written, ads to be sold, never-ending deadlines.

People were waiting for what we had to say.

“Ink in our veins,” we used to laugh.

No one yelled, “Stop the presses.”

They stopped anyway.

Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She enjoys reading and writing short stories.