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or nothing. It was an easy argument to make when life was normal, but now he really wished he’d gone for propane. He dug around in the garage, found half a bag of Kingsford. He poured
normal. And part of me starts to wonder, were we too quick before? Should we have stuck it out? And because I’m wondering that, and because
around the room, looking for a weapon, an idea, a prayer. “Besides. Who said anything about dying? Maybe we’ll win.”