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reflection in the visor.
I looked expensive.
Fresh hair.
Italian wool.
I looked like everything Hattie ever wanted to be and everything she failed to become.
I grabbed a manila envelope.
Not money.
Not a pardon.
The final nail.
I climbed to unit 204.
Railing loose.
A baby crying next door.
TV bass thumping through thin walls.
This was Hattie’s kingdom now.
Queen continue reading …
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