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Weekly Contest #347
He found her hiding behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. The empty beer bottles clustered on the scratched plastic table like flies on a carcass might have explained the red rimming her eyes and the tremble in her hands as she lifted another half-empty bottle with resigned habit.Her mascara must have been waterproof, because there were no smudged tear tracks, but her face had recently been scrubbed, bare of the blush she always wore, paled and gray in contrast to the scalding red of her lips. That was how he knew she had been crying, half her ...
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