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James died last year of too much. Too much alcohol, too much nicotine. Too much something. The cacophonous ambulance siren  grew louder and I  knew it was for James. His mailbox is gone, one less stop for the postman. James won’t be coming back. But the white daffodils blooming in his yard will.

 

http://dpchallenge.wordpress.com/2014/04/07/writing-challenge-fifty/

 

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