Twelve feet in the air the flames ate thenight sky, and I was helping a shopkeeper pull his bongos and wooden statues of Don Quixote an Ain’t I cute. At forty-two I had come to that point in my life toward which I'd struggled since I'd been a child:a place of security, importance, recognition. Forever inside, the King of Tibet, going outside.
She looked at him with disgust. ” Handy stood for a moment; then, troubled, he let himself out. He had been anaerospace worker, laid off at Boeing a few years earlier in one of the periodic “ downsizing” ploys. “ You can’ t get away from it.
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