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Last Words

I stood by the open door, watching my old Olympia sail past me. It hit the grassy strip near the parking lot, the carriage extended like a climber’s broken leg after a fall. . . . I remember the thud; the carriage bell ringing once, with the impact; then ringing again, as if in disbelief.

Breathing Space

Turning

The Hill

Mercy

Long Distance

Between The Lines

Baby Fat

Exile

Enemies Of Freedom