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She flicks her last cigarette. On the ground and steps on it. Then grabs a broom to sweep. The street of the ashes. That remind her of him. No filters left in the ditch,. Until there is only the quiet. That comes after the sound. Of the last embers fizzle out. How he loved to smoke. After they made love, how in turn,. She loved to watch him hold fire. At his fingertips without getting burned,.
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