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30 False Horizon Walk to the end of the street, the very end where hubcaps and used tires are sold, where weeds dry out with half-opened buds on acres of unsold lots, where broken glass is a scattered necklace and there is a bus stop where the bus always stops and chugs and drives away, then walk a little further until the street appears to narrow because of brand-new shops with clearance sales and grand openings, all of which slow you down, those imports that didn’t make the center of town, the mixed stream of anglo women and immigrants, a two-way street with one-way traffic from the direction in which you walk, toward the center, that way again. J.C. ...

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