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Well, Where Is It?

I was sitting at the dining room table, reading student stories and Connie was in the kitchen. The front door swings open and two middle-aged women, purses on their arms, charge into the house. Connie stops them in the foyer. “Can I help you?” she asks. “We’re here for the estate sale, ” one of them says. “There’s no sale here, ” Connie says. “Well, where is it?” the other woman demands. “I believe it’s at the apartments down the street, ” Connie says. “No, the sign said this address, ” the first woman says. “Well, it’s not here, ” I say from the dining room. Still, they stand in the foyer, craning their necks, trying to see into our living room, like they don’t trust us, like maybe we’re conducting a covert estate sale. (Painting “Yard Sale” by Mattie Lou O’Kelley)

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