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English rain feels obligatory, like paperwork. It dampens already damn days and slicks the stones.
Maureen Johnson
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Maureen Johnson
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 16
Author
Novelist
Writer
Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
English
Stones
Rain
Already
Obligatory
Days
Paperwork
Feels
Slick
Like
Rainy
Damn
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I could envision it all to clearly: Stuart or Debbie finding the dented door off its hinges, lying in the snow. She came in, ravaged the boy, stole plastic bags, and ripped off the door in her escape, the police would say in the APB. Probably making her way to bust her parents out of jail.
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Debbie had to get up and slice me a thick piece of cake before she could answer. And I do mean thick. Harry Potter volume seven thick. I could have knocked out a burglar with this piece of cake. Once I tasted it, though, it seemed just the right size.
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She was standing in the airport of Copenhagen, staring at a doorway, trying to figure out if it was (a) a bathroom and (b) what kind of bathroom it was. The door merely said H. Was she an H? Was H hers? It could just as easily be his. Or Helicopter Room: Not a Bathroom at All
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Just then, my phone started ringing. The ring must have been damaged by the water as well, so now it had a high, keening note - kind of the sound I imagine a mermaid might make if you punched her in the face.
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It was almost funny. Life seemed downright accidental in its brevity, and death a punch line to a lousy joke.
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