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Here’s how hot it was when Noor came to town. Kids didn’t ride their bikes in the street, even though it was summer and we were poor. Frogs died by the dozen on the blacktop, their feet sticking up from the tar like little broken kites. The tall grass turned to brown dust in our hands. People fried eggs on their truck hoods, then left them there to crisp and blacken when they realized they’d forgotten butter. The river was dried up.
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