Sarah Seybold


My mother knelt, coatless in the snow, trying to suck gas from the broken-down Chevy’s tank and siphon it to the Dodge, while I found a five in my jacket pocket, magic I didn’t know I had, and we coasted on fumes down icy roads to Jiffy Mart. “Let’s use a couple bucks and get some McDonald’s to celebrate our luck,” she said, finally taking a breath.

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