A fifth-grade bully, a blossoming romance, a late-night crash
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Jim Sandefur lives and writes in Boulder, Colorado. He’s a member of the Canyon Club, a thriving writers’ group.
Then she is walking across the lawn toward you in her silky blue dress. An old woman now, but more handsome than ever with her pure white hair up in a bun, her smile, the little blue vein in her forehead.
A few old men were sitting in front of the store, watching a car come through the heat waves. The buzzards rose up from a dead dog to let it pass.