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Morgan

There’s a lot of blood. The sun’s bright and hot and things are sticky under it; Morgan believes it’s making everything begin to contrast sharply, losing color, into very bright whites and spare blacks.

“You’re gonna be fine, Morgan,” Tad is saying, “stay with me, okay? Can you talk to me? ”

His voice is taking on a flat, bent quality; she associates it with concerts heard from too far away, or from around a corner. It draws her back to years-ago summer days and Cheap Trick, as they watched from a hill behind a fence, cheating, feeling dangerous and alive.

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