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There was a sad pride in her eyes, the kind of pride one gets from being knocked around and coming up, if not stronger, at least alive. She looked into her empty glass and ordered another, unable to stop thinking about the lost time and deciding as she always did: “Fuck it.” Her drink came and she sipped. There wasn’t much point going home. He wouldn’t be there anyhow. But there wasn’t much point in staying either, except it meant she didn’t have to do anything. She had a dollar left and the bus cost two.
Years later she looked back on that period as the happiest time of her life.
Date Written: August 27, 2003
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 3.75