Gold Dust
Gold Dust The gas station sat on Route 6 like a punctuation mark at the end of a sentence nobody finished. Kelly Dawson had been working there since she was sixteen, which was six years ago, which was most of her life. She wore lipstick every day. It was the cheapest kind — a tube from the dollar store that smudged if you looked at it wrong and tasted like wax and regret. Kelly applied it in...
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