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That’s the kind of lonely that makes you feel see-through.
Then Jack moved in next door.
Too big for his age in that lanky way, hat always backward, skateboard glued to his hand.
I’d see him out front in the evenings. Up and down the sidewalk. Practicing tricks.
Falling. Getting back up.
Other kids would get called in.
“Dinner!” Or “Homework!”
Doors opened. Porches lit up.
No one ever called for Jack.
His house stayed dark most nights.
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