The Photograph of a Newborn in a Yellow Knitted Hat
The sky had turned a bruised purple.
We walked past the manicured putting green and out onto the covered brick patio overlooking the eighteenth hole.
Dr.
Evans sat alone at a wrought-iron table by the railing in a red windbreaker.
A thick ceramic mug of diner-style coffee sat by his elbow.
He was studying a printed racing form.
Arthur pulled out a metal chair and sat down without asking.
I took the empty seat across from the doctor.
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