Fiction | March 01, 1992
Tillman and I
Ann Packer
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“Name the quad cities,” said Tillman.
It was the middle of the morning and we’d just crossed the Mississippi and entered Iowa. I tried to remember the highway signs we’d passed. “Moline,” I said. “East Moline.” I was stuck. “North Moline and South Moline?”
“I’m sorry,” said Tillman. “You do not win the walnut dinette set. The correct answer is: Moline, Rock Island, Bettendorft, and Davenport.”
“Rock Island sounds pretty.”
“It’s the armpit of the Mississippi. How about a sandwich?”
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