Fiction | March 01, 1992

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Even though the flatness of Kansas is sometimes exaggerated, I’ll admit that it’s level in places. It’s particularly level around Oracle, so flat that the sunlight for a week at the equinoxes skips across town like a thrown rock. Women have to hold their skirts down to keep that light from jumping up. A wariness steals into their eyes, like when the man from the bank drives out, and they grip their handbags more tightly, and the men push their hands down into their trouser pockets in fists.

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