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Clunker
December 9, 2018
The car looked like blueberries stepped on beneath bare feet, bled dry from the rust clinging to its shell. It sounded like an out of tune radio from the 60s, and behind the static you could barely hear Patsy Cline telling us how to Walk after midnight. The car was your grandpa squatting on a bench waiting for his grandson to return with some type of overpriced spiced latte.
© Kimberly H., Summer Shade, KY
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