The Distant Joke
The door closed. The latch clicked. That was the sound of the end. I stood on the porch. The air was cold. It bit my nose. My wife was inside. She was gone. Or so I thought. I watched the smoke from her chimney. It was thin. Blue. It rose straight up. No wind. The town of Harrow was quiet. Too quiet. I am a joiner. I work with wood. Oak. Maple. Pine. I know the grain. I know the knots. I know...
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