The ghost of her memory

“I’ll be your driver today, Mrs. Penn,” I said when she answered the door, this tiny white-haired woman with a nasty dog at her heels. She grinned and said, “It’s Miss, not Missus, and you can call me Shirlee.” She’d…
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gas receipts

Last week en route to the grocery store, I had a terrific story idea. In the parking lot, I scrawled some notes on the back of the closest available paper, a gas receipt, and shopped without fear of forgetting. (Normally…
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