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Weekly Contest #63
They meandered over a moss covered mountain. The road was slight patch of freshly laid tar, barely enough to contain their hulk of a Jeep. He was at the wheel while she rode shotgun, one hand resting over her churning stomach. “God damn it, there’s that goddamn bus,” she grumbled, pulling a grimace. The bus rushed at them as if being driven solely by gravity, its rickety frame rattling the mountain quiet. It stopped an inch away, barely an inch away. She gripped the overhead grab handle. “He'...
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