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75 The Collection We imagined the explosions, how they deformed the metal, made them into works of art. We had a contest to see who could collect the most unusual pieces: shape, length, sharpness. This was war, benign behind the front lines until the day the Allied forces launched an air attack on our town. Column of German soldiers walking our street, noise of car and truck engines drowning out the roar of air-raid sirens, grandfather screaming at us to get inside, seek cover in the sub-basement. When it was over, he let us come up but wouldn’t let us outside, bits of bodies littered the street. Afterwards, we threw out our pieces, never looked for shrapnel again. ...

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