Sarah O'Connor watched the world end from her third-floor apartment in Brooklyn.
She was sixty-eight years old, retired from thirty years of teaching high school English, and she had spent her entire life watching people. Students writing essays about things they did not understand. Parents arguing in the hallway outside her classroom. The janitor, Mr. Delgado, who always hummed when he mopped the floors, as if the mop bucket were a orchestra pit and he were conducting a...
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