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Stand With Haiti

Friday, September 15, 2006

coming in from the rain.

he thought it was empty, stepped in, was startled to see her there leaning against the far wall. slightly disheveled, damp from the afternoon rain, hair sloppy and a face with delicate features and no makeup. there was something unidentifiable about the mouth, and again in the slighly hostile dark eyes. he found himself, as the elevator doors shut, focused on the shadow so slight beneath her collarbone, a fine line laid accross broad shoulders. wary, though, upon realizing, he turned away from this woman in a low cut sweater. she had looked at him, and he did not know if his gaze had offended, or maybe pleased, or perhaps gone unnoticed. his mind raced; had he seen her before in this building? what age? slightly older, maybe. looking back toward her, casually, noticed just a hint of pink strap on her shoulder, was almost overwhelmed with the urge to reach out a finger, to slide it underneath, to reposition what had shifted ever so slightly out of place. and then suddenly betrayal or maybe savior: sixth floor, doors open once more. and he was obliged to step out, and leave this intrigue; she was headed to thirteen.

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