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The Dead Fish Museum
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by
Charles D'Ambrosio
"" In the fall, I went for walks and brought home bones. The best bones weren't on trails-- deer and moose don't die conveniently-- and soon I was wandering so far into the woods that I needed a map and compass to find my way home. When winter came and snow blew into the mountains, burying the bones, I continued to spend my days and often my ...
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