by Kelly Newton
Chopped
by Irene Plax
Inspiration Piece
Her heels clicked down the street, for once, the only sound.
She was carrying a rose, which she got for free at a French bistro called L’Express. A guy on the subway said, “Your boyfriend got you that rose?” and she said, ‘Yeah”.
The lie was dumb and weightless in her mouth, like a marshmallow.
She imagined herself a tree in a green forest. Inside, where chlorophyll moved through wick, there would be no need for lies, high heels, or subways.
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