The Wistful Asylum
Eva Pospisil owned a rebuilt title on a 1952 Ford, a fact that cost her two thousand dollars and her dignity, sitting in the driver’s seat while the floodwaters rose around the stockroom of unsold season’s goods. The year had no winter, only a wet, grey slush that turned the shingle beach into a mire, and the buyout offers from the county were piling up on her kitchen table like dead leaves....
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