{herald}

i check the office mail, usually after i eat lunch. i like the short walk & seize every opportunity to get out of the office.

my heels click rhythmically on the asphalt, beating out my particular tattoo (the singularness of which people recognize & remember as me)--until they don't. i look down. the tip of my stiletto is sinking into the innocuous rubber-like substance that fills in cracks, like quick sand.

fucking summer, i know you are here.
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