The Faded Quadrant
The first time I heard the boy laugh, I was coming off shift at the old County Courthouse, and the sound came from up high, from the rotunda, from the place where the painted letters sit above the doors. I set my mop bucket down on the marble and listened. The laugh was thin and far away, the way sound carries over water. Then it was gone. For three years I carried a radio on my cart and played...
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