The Distant Summer
You are tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. It is a bone-deep weariness. It sits in your left knee. It pulses with the rain. The mud on your boots is dry and cracked. You are driving a black sedan. The engine hums a low, broken note. Outside, the pine trees blur into a dark smear. The road is narrow. It winds through the Appalachian foothills. November has stripped the world bare....
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