as you've written it, is my home," the woman let the elevator doors punctuate. I didn't think anybody knew that my physical self, my actual me, had written "the piece". My heart started to pound like a well pump.
Back at the Public Library my writing coach asked me why, why did you call it ugly.
It was in my way.
The only thing in your way is yourself.
No. The World made me have a shitty day and I miss mama and we can see the same sunset on different sides of the world except when there's a big ugly highrise in my way!
We all share the sun, she scribbled on a postcard to a Nelson.
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