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Ciekawy

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I reached my plain hand to the counter where my citrus iced tea was ready. Citrus—I believe that’s what the Turkish woman had said it was. In my head I associated her deep skin tone and accent to some Middle Eastern country to remind myself that I was worldly and the rest of the souls in the little shop on Armitage were victims of involuntary isolationism—Due to light wallets and lack of interest. I can’t say that I’m proud to know the people that I know, or that my life in the two states that I’ve lived in has been anything you would call interesting. But I take pride in my Eastern European boy toy, and the mix of consignment shop finds and designer boutique pieces that make up what I am for your street eyes. I can say, despite my lack of importance or ability to recite lines from old movies, that I do know how to take this, rather ordinary and mundane life, and weave it into stories that make you think I’m something just short of wonderful. Is it wrong to play along with this life that I’ve created in my head? I wouldn’t say wrong—I’d say… ciekawy.




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