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a neon shipwreck

In the morning she gives up a ride and we walk together to her house.

We walk along the road that clings to the hillside, buckling asphalt bridges that span the forested ravines, over the crest of the hill and its panoramic view of the great river below, through hidden trails and tucked away shortcuts at the end of dead end streets. It feels familiar, as if we'd been friends for awhile, though I had just met her the night before, a stranger in a strange town that I happened only by coincidence to end up in.

I don't tell her, but her stories and funny chance encounters along the way in a place where everyone knows everyone make me want to move to a small town.

A couple years later, it was those encounters that led me to finally move to a small town. That very same town that we had spent that morning walking across.

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