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Three kids were in the back seat, my two brothers and myself. The movement of the car let them sleep. I was on watch. My oldest sister sat up in front with my Mom. She held the baby and kept my mothers anger fueld. To keep the car moving we needed both gas and my moms anger.
The car was moving. My sister lit my mom's cigarettes, "Judi, hand me a smoke". The cigarette and matches were buried in the bottom of her purse. The purse was full of unpaid bills, a checkbook with an empty account and wadded up Kleenex. The purse was never able to close because she kept important history there, never filed away but always with her so she could keep moving.
Outside the car window I could see us pass the houses, some dark and others that looked warm where everything worked. The families were at home, sitting at the kitchen table or maybe a person walking from one room to another. There were no cool blue lights form televisions. These houses didn't have the modern invention of a TV. This was 1953 and that would come later.
We were pulled out of bed to take refuge under the roof of my grandparents in Clifton Arizona. Our trip began first through Tempe then over the bridge and the Salt River down below. During most of the months the river was dry. People would live under the bridge and make their way out during the day looking for work. Then came Mesa, which was the last town where you could stay before the desert was laid out on both sides of the road. You could rent a motel room in Mesa at a Motor Lodge. Your car would be

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