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The Veteran Who Stood in the Rain<\/strong><\/p>\n The rain began as a whisper at dawn\u2014thin, steady, the kind that finds the cracks in an old town and settles there. Main Street in Cedar Falls smelled of wet asphalt and damp wool; the flags that always lined the courthouse steps hung heavy, their colors muted under a pewter sky. People shuffled along the sidewalk with collars turned up, breath puffing like little ghosts. November had a way of making everything feel smaller and truer.<\/p>\n Henry Cole stood at the corner by the post office, an island in a street of umbrellas and hurried steps. He wore a faded Navy jacket that had once been starched and proud; now the fabric held his shoulders like the memory of a uniform. He had a prosthetic leg, polished enough to catch the occasional flash of a passing car\u2019s headlights, and the scar on his jaw was a pale arc that matched the lines in his hands. Sixty-three years-old, retired from the service and from the routine of being noticed, he had come out today because he had promised.<\/p>\n He raised his hand in salute.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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