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" ...
she says, "Hummus,"
and dips a finger into the speckled-green paste. "I think they put
parsley
in it or something." Hummus. Parsley. The world revolve around this opposition
... " (p. 121)
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" ...
Bent over so that her shirt falls open, she rolls a second joint. "They make
machines for that,"
I say. "Rolling joints?" she asks, laughing again. Well, cigarettes,
I suppose. But like most things, it does things it wasnīt intended to."
... " (p. 123)
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" ...
I smiled to think of my real self bouncing around
freely inside, painless, weightless, li ke a child in the
Moon Walk
at the fair. My mind bounced too,
... " (p. 123)
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" ...
my feet," I respond. She raises herself so I can move them,
and I pull my fingers from her plant, a withered
African violet.
Brown-edged leaves hang from an aged, thick stem,
... " (p. 128)
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