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Slow Dance No. 1084

By Sharlee Glenn

Unhinged he looked at her. Clenched jaw working like a throbbing naked heart she scrubbed the carrot till its flesh glistened raw, stripped of bitter gritty skin, then slammed it down took up the knife and slashed the thing into a dozen startled discs. “She’ll get her finger,” he thought (half hoped) amazed as always …

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