Six Sentence Sunday




After the young man left she put up her hair with bobby pins and opened the window, letting the scant wind of the fading L.A. light brush its fingertips over her neck. Much gentler than the young man, barely out of shortpants. He couldn't have been shaving for more than a year or two. But what did it matter? When something invisible was gentler to you than a person, what could you expect out of life? She turned from the window to put her stockings back on and prepare to go back down to the dance hall, ready for the next one.


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