The Third Wheel
The Last Goodbye The postcard came on a Thursday. It was postmarked from Mexicali, Mexico, and bore the familiar handwriting of a man I hadn't spoken to in seven years. Danny Rossi. I turned it over in my hands like a card in a poker game I didn't want to play but couldn't refuse to sit at. The front showed a picture of a desert landscape—brown hills, blue sky, a road that stretched off into...
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