THE QUIET DESPERATION
Tom Callahan was under Mrs. Kowalski's sink at 6:15 a.m., fixing a leak that smelled like cabbage and copper. The water was cold. His back hurt the way it always hurt now — a dull, constant ache that had nothing to do with any particular injury and everything to do with eleven years of working with his hands after the steel mill closed. He tightened the nut with his wrench, wiped his hands on...
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