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a fictionalized recounting of a friday in march

((to the writing together crew - i have not been here. i don't know how it is already march. i just don't. but i am here again.)) 3/10/23 “Scumbag!”  She looked up. It had been quiet, yet forcefully muttered under his breath. Was it directed at her? No way to know for sure. She went back to checking the target app for throat numbing spray.  A day that originally seemed fun. Mom and kiddo going to museum. Eating lunch at a fancy Japanese matcha place. Only to be foiled by a sore throat. Not hers. Kiddo’s. Insert womp womp noise here.  It was, though, the last weekend to see the Joan Brown show. And she had tickets. So she had to go. Her MO was to speed thru exhibitions anyway. So 3, 2,1. She was the FIRST to arrive. The whole damn show to her whole damn self. As she exited the elevator all the guards sitting on a bench. Waiting. Dispersing to their assigned rooms as soon as they saw her. A flurry of quiet good mornings leaving their lips. Those were definitely directed at her. S

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