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The Yankee at the Sitting-Up - Flash Fiction Online
The Yankee comes in the back, brushing by my casket in his creased wool, smelling like he’d just swum in his leather-and-pine cologne. He fishes his way through the mourners who stand around fanning away the July heat and takes up a spot, nonchalant-like, along the back wall, opposite where my body’s laid out. Next …