Apple-picking DS Maolalai and I watch her as she picks around the room, gathering things very deliberately from their fallen places like apple-picking in late October pants come away from the over my shoes and her blouse is hanging on the mantel like the end of a sex scene in a bad movie and last night that’s what it was, but sober now she moves around, uncomfortable as a horse crossing water or someone dodging dogshit in an unfamiliar garden boxes of half-eaten pizza and scattered beer bottles surround.
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