Walkaway Road

They walked down the hushed country road, the blacktop beneath their shoes gummy from the summer sun. They were a boy and a girl, of just 11 and 12, yet they trudged along like prisoners on a road gang. And between them, an old oak bucket swung lazily back and forth, and where their sweaty hands gripped the handle, they could feel the human head bobbing in the brine. More

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About DF Ryan

DF Ryan writes from the northwoods of California.

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