"What are they doing??"
"Wha?" My dozing is interrupted by my mother's quizzical voice as we zip along the highway to our cottage Friday night.
"Those people up there, do you see them?" She points to the overpass we're approaching where a good 20-30 people stand, facing the direction we're driving. As we drive underneath them I crane my neck back
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it reads like it belongs in a book or a newspaper.
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