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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.

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Return To Sender

Timothy James flipped on the light on the nightstand. The clock read 2:37. He couldn’t sleep. Another night. Another mental marathon. When would this stop? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted it to stop. He rubbed his eyes, sat up in bed, and slipped on his slippers. Penny sighed and stretched out. Timothy James pet her belly and leaned to kiss her nose.

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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 pickup line at school. Lines brought out the worst of humanity. She used to pray for patience, but that seemed to result in her stuck in an even longer line of people. Patience was a virtue, but it wasn’t a gift. And this line at the bank was a chore.

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Grandpa Gump

“Hey, Grandpa. What is that box over there?”

“You mean that old trunk? That’s all the memories from Grandpa’s life.”

“Can we open it?”

“Not today, Pooh Bear.”

“But when?”

“One day, Pooh Bear. One day.”

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Ice Cream Dream

The old Royal Crown thermometer hung on the wall. It read 68 degrees, but it was by far the hottest day of the year. If this was going to happen for Gus, today was the day. He had sunk every last dollar he had into this, and if it failed, Gus didn’t know what he was going to do. He couldn’t think about it. Wondering what would happen if it failed was a recipe for failure. His grandmother taught him that. When you believe in something, in yourself, you do it. You don’t wait, she’d say.

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