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It had been unfair out.
There was some overcasting,
but the eight-minute sunlight
still got through in places.
It was nine,
the breakfast row,
a.m.
For real sugar and not packet,
I tipped her more. She had a
scar carved down her left
cheek, a relief map of her
territory.
"Oh c'mon, shit no."
"Are you kidding me?"
A commotion had stirred.
I turned for a window, found
it had started to snow.
"Fuck this, I want the Sun."
"It's snowing!"
"The SUN!"
-written by Ray Succre
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