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#1 gray, wispy is her hair. see-through, scalp; invisible like she has become. patchwork skin matches the half sewn quilt crumpled in her tattered bag, hanging slung weakly over weak shoulders and musty peacoat. and tucked away, like she has been for so long, is a pistol packed - flat cold steel pushed hard against soft wrinkled waist. she will make her presence felt, she will make her voice heard. "i will never be a grandmother." |
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