Maggie, wearing baggy dollar bin sweatpants, stringy blond pony tail and sticky palms Her junkie boyfriend swaying in the wind like a used car dealership windsock man,
Stops at bank of newspaper stands and thinks
Maybe this is where I left it
Buried in the nickel want ads and escort service flyers
Her ragged hands, a finger wrapped in a cigar ring (a sign of Junkie’s affection),
Search through stacks of papers and words for that moment when she went from
Waitress to Junkie’s girlfriend, street rat
She meticulously collects each free weekly in her shaking arms
So she can peruse them later,
When alone,
She can get down to the business of finding what she lost
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