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under clean

under clean

every fleeting thought seemed suspicious of the next and every greeting exchanged in her crowded living room felt slanderous.

sad? angry? tired? what did they know, them with their soft beds lined with a million frilly fucking pillows and their kids tucked in safe and warm. cry? why doesn’t she cry the reporters kept asking but they wouldn’t recognize a teardrop if it drowned them in the bathtub.

ha, the tub.

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