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Ramona

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Crowds of people flow like wine.
I bustle through the crowd looking for someone to talk to.
I see gaggles of women flocking like birds.

I hear my heart pound and I hold on to it.
I look up and my eyes bulge.

“This cannot be,” I say to myself.
“I must be staring at Aphrodite.”

I decide to go over there and make a good impression.
I slick back my hair with my fingers.

I look up at the girl.
Her pink hair shimmers through the crowd.
My eyes widen with delight.

“Hey,” I stammer.
The girl flashes her cold eyes at me.
“Hey,” she mutters apathetically.

“I like your hair,” I tell her.
She glares at me. I gaze deeply into her eyes.

“Thanks,” she mutters, “I have to go.”

“What’s your name,” I ask.
The girl strokes her pink hair and pauses.
“Ramona,” she tells me. “Now leave me alone.”




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