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Life in the Rearview Mirror Last night, a busted lip from the boys in town. Now you’re smiling just to prove you still can, fixing your face with your mother’s base, while she does the wash and the old man gets crocked. The days are the same but they are numbered. Tonight, while others sleep under the wool of the past, you coast the car down the drive, check your makeup in the rearview, and accept one last gift from the calloused hands of boys: the mailbox hanging from the side of its post, little red flag on the side of the road, one less reason to drop a line.  ...

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