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74 Children Together Okay, let’s pretend our parents are dead, one of us would say, and the games would begin. In winter, we were squatting in a dim city between furnaces and box springs, under spired pipes. In summer, we were stranded on an island of tripweed and pine. We chose our own names, agreed on our relations, pulled dresses and vests from the trunk of old clothes, listed the provisions we would scavenge and hunt, then, as often as not, someone’s mom would call out, time to eat, time for so and so to go! and that would be it, the whole game—planning to survive. ...

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