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the Dannun Dwann Express The women wash clothes in the river, pounding them with rocks. The atomic train slashes by on the left bank quicker than a striking snake. The commuters read papers and paperbacks, or enter facts and figures in spreadsheet programs on their laptops, or simply sleep and dream. Only a few glance at the women they pass every morning of every working day. The women know the train is passing only through the shaking of the earth: years of its thunder has deafened them totally. Their children throw stones that splash in the river, never reaching the train.
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