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Popeye By Bill Stork, DVM Belle was the waitress you’d expect in a roadside diner, three miles west of Nowheresville, Iowa. Porcelain platters balanced up her right forearm, she stooped to pour a warm-up from a steamin’ pot of Farmer’s Brothers. Pastel rouge spackled on her cheeks, unable to hide the years, liner on her lashes no disguise for the longing in her eyes. The retired construction worker, fire chief, and banker who always came to town for breakfast on the last day of their crappie crusades bantered friendly, something about her collecting eggs and milking the cow before she mopped floors and brewed coffee. Without breaking stride, she cracked the automatic smile of a single mother

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