Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
The cold air hit my face.
My truck started on the third try, the engine whining against the freeze.
The drive back to the farm was pitch black, with no streetlights past the county line.
I left the radio off and listened to the heater fan rattle.
The brown folder holding my land sale documents was still locked in my desk drawer at home.
The next morning brought a heavy white frost to the fields.
The grass was stiff and brittle under my boots.
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