An Official Record Keeper - Or, New York Times Friday, January 23 2015 by markia brooks Her eyes are still gazing at the too small black print on grey pulp thin background. Words blur phasing in and out, like tube television static. Again she backs the butt of her wrist to the nose rim of her glasses. What a useless dollar store prescription. How many little characters has she lost in the light waves bouncing from page to eye, eye to page? How much can she know about the Suspicious Death in Argentina? Before her smoke break is over, before Will surrenders the Arts section, before he stills his coffee stealing all the stolen words with his long heavy glare?
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