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coping (more or less) 245 Exterminator Holly Zeeb He came in his white hazmat suit, veil like a halo, spray gun in hand. You wouldn’t have believed the carpenter ants, wasps, meal moths swarming biblically that day. You, gone ten months, yet they were abundant and intent on their business. He fingered the dust, inspecting for ant parts, recommended the four-fifty treatment. Set out a seductive pheromone trap for the moths in the hall, doused the wasps in their secret hole In the garden. They furied up around him, but he was young, immune— wrapped in his white cotton clothes like an angel, as if he could protect me. A hit man claiming to love his work, as if he knew everything of death. ...

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