Fiction | September 01, 1991

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The part of his job Creech used to like least was having to visiit Port-au-Prince.  Four hours from New York, it may as well have been the dark side of the moon.  Approaching the airport the plane would cruise low along the coast, over the pale eroded mountains and silted rivers.  The jungle that once covered the country was nearly all gone.  A few palm trees waved and nodded on the fringe around the runway of the airport, and above a nearby cluster of small cinderblock houses painted pink and lavender.

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