Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Seven
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In one dream, we are being followed in the Target. In another, she throws a stack of file folders. In another, Ari Hest’s “Ann Marie” plays loudly in the background.
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I forgot about the date milk last night so I drink it for breakfast this morning.
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I stick my face in the sun.
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A little relieved.
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“Must feeling brave today,” I say to her as I open the car door. “White pants and a full cup of coffee while driving.” I think I hear a giggle.
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No wi-fi.
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Chipped nail polish.
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A small cluster of orange poppies in a sea of dried grasses.
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I shake the bottle of green juice but the top isn’t on it, and so green liquid splashes all over my white pants and the keyboards of both computers - and the window, and the desk.
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Of course, the air conditioning in the car would go out.