Sarai P

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Gretchen kept her sleeves rolled down no matter how warm the weather was. Some mornings she showed up with filthy Band-Aids on her fingertips. Her breath got worse. Her tongue became coated in a thick white film. The crimping had turned her hair into a frizzy nest barely controlled by a scrunchie, and her lips were always chapped.
My Best Friend's Exorcism
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