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There was a musical jingle of bottles leaning off their shelves and destroying themselves upon the tile floor.
Description
We watched the fog overlay her and make her insubstantial, not a human being anymore but a pencil-ink sketch of a human being done on the world’s whitest paper, and no one said anything.
You know what talent is? The curse of expectation. As a kid you have to deal with that, beat it somehow. If you can write, you think God put you on earth to blow Shakespeare away.
Just to see the sun again. She was right. That alone would be worth going through a lot of hell.
