THROWN OUT AT EIGHTEEN, I HID MY FLOCK IN A CLIFF CAVE—THEN THE TOWN CAME BEGGING THROUGH THE BLIZZARD

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Not from sidewalks. Not openly. Redemption, Colorado had mastered the art of judgment without fingerprints. They watched from behind lace curtains and the fog of kitchen windows. Their silence was thick and smudgy, like chimney smoke on a windless day.