Jim Latham

Stop Transmission

They’d started hiking early, in the predawn chill, expecting the day to warm. Now, midday, they stood on the ridge top in knit hats and windbreakers near the husk of the Ten 3 restaurant, charcoaled in a late-summer megafire, and watched rain and storm clouds erase the city on the plain five thousand feet below. …

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Noon in Florida

The little girl looks like my Gabby did when she was nine or ten—dark eyes, long pigtails. Chewed fingernails and ripped jeans. She’s drawing on the back of the kids’ menu, a line of eight or ten horses standing in an oval pasture. It doesn’t seem right that she’s in a casino diner at three …

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