I push the mower at dusk. Fireflies rise from the yard, oncoming headlights. I swerve, cross back, cut grass that’s already shorn.
I push the mower at dusk. Fireflies rise from the yard, oncoming headlights. I swerve, cross back, cut grass that’s already shorn.
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“I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see from the center.”
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