They take the long way, the hard way, up and down hills, past the high school and the soccer field and the graveyard where her dog once swiped some flowers. There’s a nice breeze. To her right, the sky is blue with puffy white clouds. She likes the word cumulus, repeats it to herself until it becomes cunnilingus and smiles. Her dog carries a pine cone. She thinks this is precious. She thinks lots of things are precious: children and squirrels and kittens. Her head, like her dog’s, is too small for her body, but she tries not to think about this. She thinks instead about the trees and the birds and walks with her head tilted towards the sky.
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