The Fox at the Door
The fox was bleeding on the concrete behind the old Ford plant. Ray saw it when he went out back to dump the trash. It was small, thin, one leg torn open by something sharp—dog teeth, probably, though he didn't see any dogs around. The kind of place where dogs wandered in from somewhere else and wandered out again, or didn't wander out at all. He crouched down. The fox looked at him. It didn't...
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