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GRAY EYES LOOKING OUT, AND LOOKING ON
You say she can have any man she chooses, just by being. On her good days-- walking with her head high past others, towering in her leather boots on heels of belief, she can act like she knows that too. Other days, in khakis and oxfords; slinking from water heater to tool chest--she just watches for a place to belong. From the picnic bench outside she becomes the limp piece of white paper that whips from the pavement into the air at the persuasion of each passing car. Where once it pressed against others in clean, new creation, the paper now tumbles apart from its likeness into a new life all of its own.
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