It was a hot, bright day and it was noisy with cicadas and lawn mowers. The occasional car roared down the side street, a popular cut-through in the down-turning neighborhood, thumping bass and rattling plastic. An old man groaned to his rat terrier as he shuffled out to his porch across the street, and he sat carefully in one of the molded plastic chairs.
Martin was sipping iced tea on his porch, watching. It felt like a day that something would happen, and although he had felt that way before, he was sure that this was the day. He was right.
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