when the banjo picked up she lifted her heels arched her
back and pretended she was the wind. It blew her from belly-up to the bar,
where she got one more vodka cranberry and waltzed away. She never left like a
whisper, she stormed through like stinging sand. She was an island, and
welcomed all to swim up beside her and try make waves upon the shore. But she
could dance like the wind and so she knew the secret of transition, and thus
nothing could ever pull her. Tides eddied amongst her and she was tickled. But
never shaken.
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