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I would love to hear from you. Please contact me at: adamdfisher@optonline.net |
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BLACK BOX Mother and son hold the cold, metal box no bigger than a can of coffee, but weighing more. They bend, place it in the hole dug in the grass near a pine, where it slides to rest at the bottom with a quiet clunk. The son helps his mother up; they watch while the hole is filled, covered with turf. They turn, leave what’s left of him there. |