Last Stop - David Alan Webb

I had lived in this region for years. And--although I wasn't what you'd call comfortable, I was at home. So part of me wished I could stay. But all things come to an end, and here I was at the Last Stop.

Just past the solitary bench, a stubby lamp post marked the border, and on the other side I could already see the beginning of change. But further on the fog obscured the way.

I didn't even know what was coming to take me onward. But something would.

It always did.

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