She was probably a bandit lying in abandonment beneath the highway’s shoulder. Her hair filled with grass and a bent knife held in her left hand. We watched her in fascination as she rolled over to smudge her other cheek with tar-stained gravel.
She would not look at us. Scouring her pockets, we found nothing. Ants crawled from the tops of her torn boots and she held her hair across her eyes.
We left her there a monument to the highways crossing our great nation, another piece of trash discarded and dirtied on the smoothed route from here to destination.
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