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... all onto the mattress. If “mattress” even applied. It was one miserable pace wide, two and a half long, stuffed with malice and murderous springs. She tolerated it anyway.

The towel she tossed arced across the room and landed dead-center on the coat hook. Even bone-tired, she refused to miss.

It had been so long since she’d last visited this broom-closet excuse for a room, long enough that nostalgia might have tried its luck. She rolled to her side and studied the bed.

Go ...

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