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Good Old Days Magazine

PROLOGUE

Tuesday, May 14, 1996

If the second hand on the wall clock over the cash register hadn't been moving, Linda Turpin would have sworn the batteries had died. It was 2:37 in the morning. She indulged in a huge, gaping yawn that she didn't bother to cover. What was the point? The convenience store was empty except for her.

“It's my own fault.” She spoke aloud, a habit she'd picked up whenever she worked the midnight shift. “I

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