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		<title>sparks158 | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/sparks158</link>
		<description>The original writings of author sparks158</description>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>The Last Bottle of Anderon</title>
			<description>I had just turned 21 a few months before my mother first got sick. She had seen some of the signs, and others had too, and she went to see a doctor. Cancer, they told her. The Big C. She'd caught it soon, they said. They could fix this.But within a month, she was bedridden. I came to her hou..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/701348/</link>
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			<title>Another Day in a small New York town</title>
			<description>It's 5:30, and time for Shelly's second smoke break. She pushes open the kitchen's back door, stands by the dumpster, and lights her Chesterfield. It's been a rough day, but its nearly over. The sun is setting, and she watches the traffic drive by. The dumpsters smells are overpowering, but ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/683736/</link>
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			<title>Sunday</title>
			<description>When do you begin to grow up?</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/683734/</link>
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			<title>Life on the Line</title>
			<description>		My 21st birthday was, for the most part, uneventful. I woke up with a shot of vodka, drank beer throughout the day, went to a bar that night. Got laid. It was also, from my recollection, about the time I began to lose my mind.&amp;nbsp;Three days later, I got my permit from the Sheriff's d..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/653041/</link>
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			<title>Memories of a Dusty Road</title>
			<description>		Do you remember?That time where we drove, barrellingdown the country road. The dustso thick we could taste it.&amp;nbsp;We sat in the sun,in that Mercedes(Was it '67? 76?)Top down, wind ruffling our hairandDo you remember?The song you played throughthe tinny cassetter player?We..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/653039/</link>
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			<title>Memories of Bigelow</title>
			<description>The snow was falling, and I was walking to class. Shoulders hunched, head down. My feet were cold, but I was almost there. Was I going to be late? Would I miss the test? Would I-&quot;Hey, you used to live in Bigelow Hall, didn't you?&quot; he asked, interrupting my thoughts. He stood in my path, look..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/653038/</link>
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			<title>Kidnappings</title>
			<description>		It was a Tuesday night, not much later than 11, and TopHat was the driver. The week before it was Cardinal's turn, the week after would be November's. It wasn't my turn again 'til the week after that. Schedule. That's what separates us from the animals, they say. Course, even though it w..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/653037/</link>
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			<title>Haunted</title>
			<description>		One minute I was naked in class, and the next I was falling off a cliff. And suddenly I was in a hotel room, and there she was.&quot;I flew in from Indianapolis,&quot; she said, and I think I knew then at some level that I was dreaming. We smiled, and we laughed, and after a few minutes I pulled her..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/653036/</link>
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			<title>Changes</title>
			<description>I've never remembered a time in my life without F&amp;amp;SF, The Monthly Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Collections of short stories packaged into a small paperback, sent to the house in the mail once a month for as far back as I can remember. My mother read them religiously, and whil..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/653034/</link>
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			<title>An Afternoon in Peniel</title>
			<description>&amp;nbsp;&amp;ldquo;&amp;hellip;and do you know how much condoms cost when I wasgrowing up?&amp;rdquo; my grandfather asked.&amp;nbsp;I wasn&amp;rsquo;t much more than fourteen, sitting cross leggedin front of his wheelchair, listening to his stories. &amp;ldquo;How much, grandpa?&amp;rdquo; Iasked. &amp;nbs..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sparks158/653028/</link>
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