The bar sign in phosphorescence exposed her and shrouded her conversely in bittersweet light and dark ocular reverberations; Open. Shut. Open. Closed.
She had been misled. Feeling the fool now, anger wiped her out and left her tossed and discarded like a dishrag. Sliding from the barstool, she used her sleeve to wipe the blood from her lip. Pains were taken to appear straight, walk right. Her mouth is too wet. She feels several crows shy of a murder.
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