The cops were still tarnishing Derek's mellow. Orlando sat in the cop car driver seat,
typing onto the laptop mounted on a dashboard swivel. Atlas and Welsh were conferring on the lawn, standing
where the porch light failed and shadows reclaimed property. Atlas was an
unrepentant throat clearer. It sounded
like a sprinkler on a hay field trying to blast water past a blockage of some
sort in the line, likely a once inquisitive now mummified rodent.
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