The-Dry-Season-202606062145.txt
The dust in West Texas doesn't settle. It just waits. Sam Torres drove past the same water tower every day on the way to the newspaper office. It said SAN ANGELO on the side, faded to pink by the sun, with a crack in the letter S that looked like a mouth trying to say something and failing. She thought about that water tower when she thought about the people who came through this town....
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