The Kneeling Man
I Walter Price knelt every day at three in the afternoon. It didn't matter if it was raining. It didn't matter if he had work. It didn't matter that the mine had closed and the company store had shut down and his wife had taken the girl and left three months ago and he hadn't seen her since. At three, he knelt. The grave was small. A field stone with "TIMOTHY J. PRICE 1998-2012" carved into it...
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