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Dust

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Two men walk down a dusty dirt road far off in the countryside of southern Oklahoma. The blistering July sun has parched the land dry brown. After many empty miles, they come across the body of a dead armadillo in the middle of the road.

“Well lookie thar, Petey! Dadgum that look like a dead armadillie!”

“Shoot man, I reckon yar right. Lookin’ ta me like he’s clipped by a pick’um’up truck or sumpin.”

Petey crouches down on his knees, wipes the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and pokes the dead animal with a stick.

“Durn, he been dead a few days.”

“Too bad. I reckon’ Peggie Sue coulda cooked up a fine stew wit dat thar critter.”

“Yeah…say I been thinkin’ Petey… is… is we hicks???

“What? No! No I don’t reckon so! Why’d ya even ask such a ting?”

“I’s jus’ a thinkin’.”

“Well quit jus’ a thinkin’. I reckon we’s purt durn near normal as they come.”

Petey turns and starts off down the road again, followed slowly by his partner. They exchange few words, both deep in thought. A few minutes later, the Armadillo gets up and ambles away in the other direction.





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