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Hummingbird


by Christopher Bowen


There's a parked car outside the bus station with wiper blades on, rubber squeaking against the dry windshield. It's not raining anymore, you can go anywhere. It's only raining on the inside.

She sobs in sync with the motor, the soft whimper like wipers, the hum like the engine.

It's only raining on the inside, she says.


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