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shadowed his eyes from sixty-hour weeks at the mechanic shop.
He looked at my leg and swore under his breath.
“They didn’t help you,” he said. Not asking. Stating a fact he already knew.
I shook my head.
Without another word, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a thick wad of bills—tens and twenties, crumpled and worn from honest work.
He pressed continue reading …
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