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| Horses paw the road. An Amish buggy has stopped. They have crossed the line. A slicker takes a picture from inside a car --and loses a soul? The heavens threaten as metaphors like rosebuds all wither and die. Boys tug at the air hoping the truckers will honk. We're not in a truck. We hit a dead skunk. At least I think it was dead. Everything stinks. The last covered bridge is down the very next road but we drive on by. |
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