The Faded Alibi
The canister of canned peaches sat on the passenger seat, its label peeling at the edges, a small orange square of artificial sweetness in the gray expanse of the highway. I had been driving for six hours, the wipers slapping a rhythmic, dull beat against the rain-streaked glass, and my hands had gone numb on the steering wheel, the cold seeping through the leather and into the bone of my...
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