266 lines
10 KiB
HTML
266 lines
10 KiB
HTML
<!DOCTYPE html>
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<meta charset="utf-8">
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<title>corner shop</title>
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<style>
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body { background: linear-gradient(to right, black 5%, #ddd); }
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main {
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background: #ddd;
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font: 20px/1.5 serif;
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max-width: 70ch;
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padding: 2ch;
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float: right;
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position: relative;
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top: 60px;
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}
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#title {
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font: 40px/2 monospace;
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position: fixed;
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top: 0; left: 0; right: 0;
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background:
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url(https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/pictures/210000/nahled/black-bricks-background.jpg);
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color: white;
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z-index: 100;
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display: flex;
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justify-content: space-between;
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align-items: baseline;
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}
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q.crone {
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font: 18px sans-serif;
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text-transform: uppercase;
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letter-spacing: 1px;
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}
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q.crone::before, q.crone::after { content: ""; }
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q.n { color: navy; }
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q.n::before { content: "\2014"; padding-right: 6px;}
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q.n::after { content: ""; }
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q.landlord { font: 18px serif; font-weight: bold; }
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.number {
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padding: 4px;
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border: 1px solid;
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border-radius: 2px;
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font: 18px monospace;
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background: green;
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color: white;
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}
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.stop {
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padding: 8px;
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background: red;
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color: white;
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border-radius: 8px;
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}
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.return {
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text-align: right;
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color: white;
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font-size: 16px;
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padding: 8px;
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}
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</style>
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<aside id="title">
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<span>corner shop</span>
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<a href="index.html" class=return>return</a>
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</aside>
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<main>
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<p><q class=crone>There are times when you'll want to stop</q>,
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she said,
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<q class=crone>and there are times when going on
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seems like the only option.</q>
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<p>
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I wasn't sure what she was talking about. I'd only come in the
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shop, walked up to the counter, leaned my head around the corner
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of the muffin display to ask her if they still had any danishes,
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or if they were out for the day.
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<p>
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She'd came out of the back room, her hair a halo around her head,
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muttering to herself, staring at her fingers. I'd asked my
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question <q class=n>Do you still have any danishes?</q> and that's when
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she said what she said.
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<p>
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<q class=crone>There are times when you'll want to stop and there
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are times when going on seems like the only option.</q>
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<p>
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I didn't know what to do with that, so I just looked at her while
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she stared at her fingers and wiggled them a little, like she was
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counting something. She didn't look up. Eventually, I cleared my
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throat and said <q class=n>What?</q> She barely shifted her head,
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I'm presuming to indicate that she'd heard me but that whoever was
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in her head was busy at the moment, and would return my call at a
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later time. <q class=n>Right —</q> I said, and not seeing any
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danishes in the displays, I turned to go.
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<p>
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That's when she grabbed me by the arm, her grip stronger than
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anyone's I'd had the pleasure or pain to experience before. She
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still didn't look me in the eyes, but at a spot just between them,
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and slightly higher up. It gave me a headache. She said, louder
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this time, <q class=crone>There are times when you'll want to
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stop, and times when going on seems like the only option.</q>
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<p>
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I tugged on my arm, desperate to get free from her grip. She was
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really starting to freak me out. I said <q class=n>Get off me you
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old —</q> but then she continued.
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<p>
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<q class=crone>Neither feeling is right when it is felt. You must
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continue when wanting to stop and stop when the only option is
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to go forward. Think when acting seems best. Act when
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caution seems wise. Whatever you do, do not listen to
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yourself. Remember you don't know anything.</q>
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<p>
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I wrenched my arm free from her grasp (could I only because
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she'd loosened it?), turned on my heel, and ran from the shop as
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quickly as I could. I ran down the block and turned the corner
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and ignored the Don't Walk sign to run across traffic (honks
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chorusing their disapproval) and I didn't stop running until I
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reached my building's locked door where I fumbled through my
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keys as quick as I could but couldn't find the one I needed.
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<p>
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I checked again. And again. The key to my building wasn't on
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the ring.
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<p>
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I hadn't taken my keyring apart for at least three months, not
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since I switched to this new keyring that was purported to make
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using your keys <span class=number>150%</span> easier. I began to panic just a little
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bit but I thought <q class=thought>The only difference I've
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experienced today, the day I've lost the key to my
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building, is that little shop that didn't have
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danishes</q>. So I decided to pay that little shop another
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visit.
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<p>
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I ran back across the street (this time waiting for the cars to
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pass and the walking man to flash), around the corner, down the
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block and then — I walked into a poster on a brick wall
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advertising The Better You. The little shop was gone.
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<p>
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Maybe I'd lost my way. I had been in quite the hurry after the
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lady behind the counter had so disturbed me. I hadn't been paying
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attention to where I was going. I'd rushed across the street
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— twice! — and I hadn't thought to note the name of
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the shop on either my entrance or my exit.
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<p>
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I tried shaking my head to rid my mind of the doom-cloud sitting
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above it and called my landlord. The phone rang twice and she
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picked up.
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<p>
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<q class=n>Hello, I've lost my key, I was hoping to get a new
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one.</q><br>
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<q class=landlord>How did that happen?</q><br>
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<q class=n>To be honest I'm not sure. I stopped in this danish
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shop —</q><br>
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<q class=landlord>Oh, the one on <span class=number>13th</span> and <span
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class=number>Westmore</span>?</q>
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<p>
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I looked up at the street corner's signs. I was on <span
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class=number>12th</span> and
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<span class=number>Westmore</span> — so I had misremembered the shop's location! I hung
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up without answering my landlord and walked briskly down the
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street toward <span class=number>13th</span>.
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<p>
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I passed <span class=number>14th</span> Street. Oops. I was really turned around today.
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I turned back and began walking toward <span
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class=number>13th</span>.
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<p>
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I passed <span class=number>12th</span>, then <span
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class=number>11th</span>. Wait a moment. I turned around again
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and walked back down from where I came.
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<p>
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<span class=number>11th</span>. <span class=number>12th</span>.
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<span class=number>14th</span>.
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<p>
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I caught my breath. It was rising in my chest to something
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resembling a sob. I wasn't sure what to do. My coat seemed to
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tighten around me. The wind blew colder. I turned up my collar
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and walked backward — slowly — up the block, watching the
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numbers on the buildings.
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<p>
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<span class=number>1405</span>. <span class=number>1403</span>.
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<span class=number>1401</span>.
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<p>
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<span class=number>1256</span>. <span class=number>1252</span>.
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<p>
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Where were the <span class=number>1300</span>s? Where was <span
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class=number>13th</span>?!
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<p>
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My phone buzzed in my pocket. I wasn't sure how long it had
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been buzzing for or if it had just started. I pulled it out and
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looked at the screen. My landlord. I answered the call and put
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the phone up to my ear.
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<p>
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<q class=landlord>I can't believe you just hung up on me, of all
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the nerve—</q><br>
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<q class=n>I can't find <span class=number>13th</span>.</q><br>
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<q class=landlord>You what?</q><br>
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<q class=n>I can't find <span class=number>13th</span>. You said
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the shop was on <span class=number>13th</span> and
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<span class=number>Watermore</span>.</q><br>
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<q class=landlord>What shop?</q><br>
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<q class=n>The shop, the one you were asking about. The one
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without danishes.</q><br>
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<q class=landlord>No, I said <span class=number>13th</span> and
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<em><span class=number>Westmore</span></em>. <span
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class=number>13th</span> ends before <span
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class=number>Watermore</span>.
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Now do you want your key copied or —</q>
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<p>
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I don't know what else she said because I was off again, this
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time toward <span class=number>14th</span>. I'd have to walk up
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<span class=number>14th</span> to <span
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class=number>Westmore</span>, then
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down the block to <span class=number>13th</span>, and there I'd be. It's funny, I
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thought, I don't remember going all the way around these blocks
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and all, before.
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<p>
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I turned the corner at <span class=number>14th</span> and walked with purpose. I knew
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this part of the city. The streets were in alphabetical
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order, so they were very easy to remember; besides, I'd lived
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here for five years, I should think I'd know my way around.
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I've just been having trouble sleeping, that's all. Nothing
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really to worry about. I'm just a little scrambled. I'll just
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go on down <span class=number>Westmore</span> to <span class=number>13th</span> and grab my key from the freak lady
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in the shop —
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<p>
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An empty lot yawned like a toothless old hag.
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A fence protected its waste, but somehow some young tuff
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had still managed to spraypaint a curseword artfully
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on the dirty brick wall.
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My mouth agape, I turned and looked toward the street.
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My eyes tripped over a bench with a sleeping figure.
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I sat down next to it in silence.
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I waited a long time.
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<p>
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The figure stirred in its sleep — in <em>her</em> sleep, I realized,
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as she sat up and yawned like a cat,
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completely unaware of her surroundings.
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<p>
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In <strong><em>HER</em></strong> sleep, I realized suddenly,
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it was the woman from the shop!
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I let out a yelp of surprise.
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Slowly she pivoted her head on her neck and looked at me.
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<p>
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<q class=crone>What's wrong with you, son?</q><br>
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<q class=n>You — you're her —</q><br>
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<q class=crone>Yes, I'm certainly me. Who're you?</q><br>
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<q class=n>You're her — from the store —</q><br>
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<q class=crone>Okay.</q><br>
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<p>
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She got up to go.
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I grabbed her arm —
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<q class=crone>Let go of me!</q> she screamed.
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<p>
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<q class=n>You were in the store, you told me you didn't have danishes,
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or rather you didn't say anything about danishes but you said
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—</q>
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<br>
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<q class=crone>I don't know what you're talking about!</q>
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<p>
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She tugged herself out of my grip and ran down the street.
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I laid down on the bench where she'd been and new only to cry.
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My phone buzzed some more in my pocket.
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I knew it was my landlord, angry about my hanging up on her,
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but ready somewhere with a new key.
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She was a really good landlord, I've got to give her that.
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<p>
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I sat up and turned around to look at the empty lot without any danishes.
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Except — there was a danish where I hadn't seen it before,
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underneath the curseword spraypainted on the wall.
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Next to it was one word: <strong class=stop>STOP</strong>.
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