The Pale Verdict
Valley traffic choked the narrow road toward the retraining center, trucks hauling agave and buses full of tourists grinding through the midday heat. Marisol Arellano sat in the back of a moving van, her knees pressed against the dashboard, watching the dust rise off the asphalt. She was thirty-four, a piano mover by trade, and the debt on her payday loan had rolled over five times. The heat in...
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