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phone call for 6 years, maybe 27.
So when Vera said, “Don’t come home,” I said, “All right.” Because all right was the only word I had left for her. I drove down Hanover Street at 7:45. The North End was glowing.
Italian flags in the windows. Old men smoking in front of bakeries. A Christmas wreath up too early on a street light.
I found trattoria Rosalia continue reading …
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