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That Greyhound Station

That Greyhound Station This woman I am interviewing, one of her front teeth crosses over the other and sticks out like a leg crossed over the other. Otherwise I would hire her; I am certain of that. But she reminds me too much of that Greyhound station at three in the morning. There, alone on a bench, across from me still, her little dress up, skulls of bare knees, hillbilly child waiting. Donal Mahoney

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




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Book: Shattered Sighs