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By MARTY FINLEY
The curtains billowed in midair as the pale light drifted into the room, an iridescent sun dripping tentacles over the morose atmosphere of downtown.
The room was bathed in dust, and smoke drifted off the counter tops like battalions marching rigidly into battle. She lay strewn in place, a perfect mess, counting semicircles on her open palm as she recited a poem she had read years ago. The couch creaked under her weight, due more to its old age than her large form.
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