Short Story: Jean, 1948 | Change Seven Magazine
Brad stepped over to where we sisters sat, like two old price tags from last season’s sale we must have looked, although Wynne looked wound up in that way that tempted Brad. I French inhaled without looking at him. He deviled Wynne, placed the dirty ashtray near her. “You might need this,” he said, and went back to bartending. I saw the lipstick. Rat.
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