Fiction | September 01, 1993

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From work I usually go straight home to feed the cubs, who’ve come to depend on me for dinner, which isn’t necessarily healthy but has its gratifying aspects–for all of us, I think.  But this had been one fo those days of taking too many people on nature hikes around the island, pointing out the fragile clouds of diesel exhaust–in short, wondering what good i was doing–so it was somethign more than a whim that prompted me to stop at Bark bay on my way home and see about the purple loosestrife I’d spotted growind there.

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