I tried, for just a minute, to not think. To not think about what had just happened. To not think about how the life I’d thought I was going to have had snapped off like a thin branch. Gone. To think only about the smell of warm asphalt and gasoline in the parking lot. To think only about the rough brick against my back. And then, just above me, a single light bulb in a row of lights flickered—on and off, on and off. I remembered Art and Mildred, the ghosts from our old pub that my dad used to joke about. I thought this could somehow be him, sending me a signal. The lights flickered on and off
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