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Should’ve Taken A Left

“Where did you say he was from,” asked Rachel?

“Albuquerque,” said Meghan.

“And what’s he doing here?”

“He’s in the Coast Guard. Wilmette Harbor.”

“Who does he know here?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care.”

“Why don’t you go talk to him,” ushered Rachel?

“Me? No. I couldn’t,” said Meghan.

“Why not?”

“Look at him. He’s just…look at him.”

“He’s just a guy. I mean, look at that terrible mustache.”

“I think it’s sexy.”

“No you don’t”

“I do. Look at all of him. And look at his belt buckle. I bet he rides horses.”

“He’s like 20.”

“So. He puts all these Glenview boys to shame.”

“I’ll give you that.”

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Mrs. Olsen At The Opera

 

“Would you look at her dress?”

“Don’t be such a nose, Margaret Olsen.”

Margaret took the binoculars from her eyes and scoffed at Henry. She then promptly went back to scanning the room.

“How would you like it if people were spying through glass to judge you?”

“It wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t do so through mother of pearl, Henry.”

Margaret was never late to the opera. In fact, she was often there before the ushers would let her in. There was nothing fashionable about being late. Being late was for people who had to work on weekends. Margaret never worked a weekend in her life. She was dressed and ready for the night immediately after her lunchtime tea. Earl grey. With jasmine. Piping hot.

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EVERY LAST ONE OF YA

 

Work sucked. Traffic sucked. The bank sucked.

Mallory hated standing in line. Any line. It didn’t matter where, or when—the grocery store, the dmv, the pick up line at school. Lines brought out the worst of humanity. She used to pray for patience, but that seemed to result in her being stuck in an even longer line. Patience was a virtue, but it wasn’t a gift. And this line at the bank was a chore.

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