Matt Cadd ground out his last cigarette on the hot asphalt beneath the park bench. The bands had marched to the beat of the bass drums and the wail of the bagpipes. The crowds had gone home, the speeches forgotten.
The dead remained, their eternity cocooned in the cold earth.
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Play Ball! - It was fourteen degrees Fahrenheit this morning according to the outdoor thermometer on my patio. I have a rule about such temperatures: I am in favor of...
1 week ago