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The Hero of Ward 6 by Sandra McDonald Driving home, Jack saw a crude sign written on cardboard and nailed to an oak tree near his house: "Poison on gras! Harmful too dogs. BeWARE." The thin triangle of land beneath the tree belonged to the city, leftover from when the first subdivisions moved into and carved up the old farms between the river and University Boulevard. The oak was a majestic old thing, at least a hundred years old, that had been left in place as the road was put down around it. Spanish moss hung from its huge branches. Scraggly winter grass covered the ground beneath it. Neighbors often let their dogs take dumps there, and a few scofflaws were known for not cleaning up the mess. Jack pulled into his carport. His stomach growling with hunger, he carried his suitcase into the kitchen. Stan was straining hot pasta into a blue colander at the sink. His nose was pink and his glasses foggy. The heady aroma of garlic and tomatoes hung in the air. "Who put up that sign about poison?" Jack asked. Stan carried the colander back to a stainless steel pot on the stove. "Ward 6 Hero, last night. No welcome home kiss?" "Hello." Jack kissed
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