Two Horses

The Horse Thieves

By John W Prince
He stood there, leaning heavily on the rusty bicycle, pointing west on the eastbound road toward Russia; rags wrapped around the wheels of the contraption where rubber tubes and tires should be; ragged, dirty, hungry and exhausted; outside the broken fence of their burned-out farmhouse.

“Guten Morgen,” he said softly, as if asking a question.

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