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Weekly Contest #94
“We aren’t lost.” my dad said through gritted teeth. I could tell he meant to deliver that statement with confidence and finality - an immovable end to the conversation. A brick wall against which my mother’s onslaught of passive aggression would inevitably fail. Instead it echoed whiny and unconvincing around the interior of our old, rusty Subaru. From my vantage point in the back seat, I knew my mother was angry. She never raised her voice, but I could always tell by the set of her shoulders. My years spent in the back seat of this car ha...
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