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The driver’s window slid down. Polo shirt. Sunglasses. Chadwick.
He didn’t wave. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, phone lifted, taking pictures. My truck. My house. Me.
I raised my beer in a casual salute.
He stared another ten minutes, then drove off.
I called the sheriff.
Deputy Reynolds showed up the next morning, dust trailing behind his cruiser. He had continue reading …
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