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306 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 1, 2003
I walked to the kitchen, shuffling the way I do when my knees are like old plow handles and my joints are rusted shut.
It’s humbling to realize maybe you ain’t as good as someone you’ve spent years looking down on.
That part of you that wants to care for other folks is like fresh milk. You might as well pour it out as you go along the path. It don’t . . . keep in a bucket . . . very long.
In town after town, people were building anew. Towns just like our own—small, imperfect places beneath which hid the potential for something larger, something stronger, something we may never have seen, if not for the disaster.