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All three of us were silent as we drove past the blank “welcome to” sign and into the town with no name. The people all watched us with the same slack expression, their heads tilted at identical angles as if listening to a single far-off sound. For a moment, I heard it too. For a moment, the people in the car seemed like strangers and I couldn’t remember who we were or where we were going, but then we passed the last house and it came back. We were all old friends. All travelling together. All safe. All four of us.
Short story written by Peter Chiykowski
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