East Talbot’s got a bar, a diner, a farm supply store with a sideline in maple syrup products, and a gallery some hopeful hipster had opened five years ago selling tourist shit for tourists who never buy enough.
===

A thick blanket of gray cloud sits across the town like a pan lid.
===

…she’s wearing so much polyester Thurston’s certain she’ll spark a fire if she crosses her legs too quickly.
===

Terri leans forward and props her hand on her chin. “I like long stories,” she says.
===

“Y’know, if I was a gambling woman—which is a great name for a country song, right?—I’d bet you was some sort of cop.”
===

You’re losing your touch, buddy, says a voice in his head. Like you ever had it, comes the response.
===

He glances up and down the deserted corridor. The place is like a morgue.

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