The Rust Belt Equation

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2026-06-18 07:25:49 -

The bus was late. It was always late. Becky Turner stood at the stop on Main Street, her breath making small clouds in the September air, which was the kind of September that didn't feel like fall so much as a brief pause between summer and the thing that came after summer—the thing that had a name nobody in Millerton liked to say out loud. Winter. Her sneakers had a hole in the left one. Not a...

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