Authors: Stephen King
desert temblor. They will repair it and life will go on.
He was reported missing - Dolan.
A few tears were shed.
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A columnist in the Las Vegas Sun suggested that he might be playing dominos or shooting pool somewhere with
Jimmy Hoffa.
Perhaps that is not so far from the truth.
I'm fine.
My back is pretty much okay again. I'm under strict orders not to lift anything which weighs over thirty pounds
without help, but I've got a good bunch of third-graders this year, and all the help I could want.
I've driven back and forth over that stretch of road several times in my new Acura automobile. Once I even stopped,
got out, and (after checking in both directions to make sure the road was deserted) took a piss on what I was pretty
sure was the spot. But I couldn't produce much of a flow, even though my kidneys felt full, and when I drove on I kept
checking the rearview mirror: I had this funny idea, you see, that he was going to rise up from the back seat, his skin
charred to a cinnamon color and stretched over his skull like the skin of a mummy, his hair full of sand, his eyes and his
Rolex watch glittering.
That was the last time I was on 71, actually. Now I take the Interstate when I need to head west.
And Elizabeth? Like Dolan, she has fallen silent. I find that is a relief.
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