WHERE THE DUST SETTLES
WHERE THE DUST SETTLES The flour sack dress on the clothesline had been hanging there since Tuesday. By Friday afternoon the dust had crusted it stiff as cardboard, and when the wind came through at four o'clock the entire line of washing leaned sideways like a row of gray specters bowing to something unseen. No one took the dress down that day. No one took it down the next day either. On...
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