Published: June 11, 2006
Updated: June 11, 2006

Out in front of the stable the bearded drunk had quit dancing, and the hound dog was sitting under the water trough scratching fleas. The wagons rickety wheels made dust clouds that hung in the green air like powdered bronze. A bend in the road: Noon City was gone.
Truman Capote, “Other Voices, Other Rooms”


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