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Last Half-Mile Dirty men in pickups call. I do not stop running, but practice shaking my head and telling friends: I know, it's so nasty. Sidewalks don't end but I run on grass anyway for the sake of my knees. I want to stay together, at least till the sidewalk ends. My ponytail swishes for the benefit of a gardener and his limp hose. I had thought of cutting it, but couldn't stop thinking of the way it swishes. Miles done flash in and out of vision. What is that creaking? The door, so soon? It is about that time. My knee spasms like a skittering popcorn kernel until my gait slows and my feet are cushions. Hands on head, armpits unshaven, I walk home.
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