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Doris is sitting on the front porch smoking.  It is not quite 8 in the morning and still less than 25 degrees, although probably warmer facing East, which she is.


Doris is smoking outside because her youngest has Asthma and its not good for her to smoke in the house.   That is what she tells him, and what she tells Steve, who usually goes outside too, but not always.


Doris is sitting outside wrapped in a large wool blanket.  It is from Mexico, and from her brother, who went down there a few years back with some friends. He told her it only cost him five bucks.   Probably less, but it is pretty, with stripes of eight different colors and a fringe of bright yellow.   Mostly it is really warm because it is real wool, and not polyester, like the junk at Costco.


Doris is sitting outside and staring across the street at the railroad tracks, which will be quiet until around 10, when the first train of the day comes by, headed North.  It is close enough to her house that it shakes the dishes in her pantry.   It probably will wake up the house, but maybe not. 


It's Saturday and most folks are sleeping in, hiding under quilts, dreaming of Spring.

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