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Fiction

Abstract

WE DECIDED to pot a goose. It had been a long day in the hoglots up to our jeans in hog muck and we were hungry. Gary was sitting on Chevytruck and I was atop the sagging cab of Fordtruck. We were watching the prairie sun go down behind a mountain sixty miles away. Sixty miles of Wyoming smouldered red in the sun. A flock of geese drifted high over the red Wyoming...

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