Go Home, Son, Your War Is Over
[long story short | february 2011]
Michael drove through the crispness of an unusually cool August afternoon, windows down, a preview of the too-few weeks in the coming autumn, down Stellhorn Road, turned away from the interstates, out by corn fields, down past a bowling alley and a cemetery, turned back toward a state road, stopped paying attention in an attempt to get lost in his own hometown but unconsciously pulled into his parents’ driveway, and parked.
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