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OUR AMERICAN  The balcony was small, scarcely big enough for two stools, a stack of books, some empty flowerpots, and a broken washing machine the size of a television that Ilya and Sasha used as a table. Ten stories below, boys played soccer in the long park that stretched out from the building. Treetops framed the soccer field on three sides; plumes of white smoke rose from the lumpy patchwork of orange and brown. The air was filled with the dark, bitter smell of burning leaves. |
