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The More Things Change 

Three people were gone. At least, ones they could remember. Carmen, Farah, and Art.

Johannesberg’s hair was now long and pony-tailed. 

Rajinder’s brand of cigarettes was different.

Alice was still dying. 

And the cottage had changed.

It looked different, the layout was different. The decorations were different. It wasn’t the cottage that Hank had visited as a boy. 

The cottage had changed. But Alice was still dying.

Hank shifted on the stool, tucked in amongst the bushes, watching the laneway through the trees. The rifle rested at his side. He was glad to be on watch; he couldn’t relax inside anymore. 

Susanna crept up behind him, making enough noise to avoid startling him. 

“I brought coffee,” she said. 

“Leave me alone,” he said.