The Faded Road
The loom clattered. A rhythm. Iron on iron. I sat in the driver’s seat of the Ford, engine ticking over in the cold. Smoke rose. Thin. Blue. It curled into the grey sky like a ghost trying to leave. I looked at the coat. It hung on the back seat. Wool. Heavy. Good cloth. I had bought it myself. Last winter. For the road. For the cold. It was fine. It was new. Then it was not new. I drove north....
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