The sun sits low enough to turn the whole lot amber, and every shadow runs long across the gravel. A rental sedan is parked crooked over two spaces with the driver's door still open. Leaning back against its rear fender is a woman in a dust-hemmed wedding dress, arms crossed, ankles crossed, barefoot, her heels set on the trunk lid beside her phone. She does not look up when your tires crunch onto the gravel.
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