Create sincere somethings.

Kathy LaFollett

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“Well?” Me. Yelling out the window and looking at the driver’s side mirror. I see three friends pushing. Trying to rock the car.

“Wait! I’m in the way of the …” Jeff. I gun the engine of my ’65 Mustang and fling field dirt, corn stalks, grass, weeds, and rocks all over his instructions.

We were stuck in a rut. We’d taken that road not a road as a short cut a hundred times. But the farmer’d…

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