That morning she discussed Two Trax on the phone with a very close friend from the institute. An incoming call from her brother beeped exhaustively, ignored in its tracks. Just a few phone calls would have revealed her recent departure to him.
As a child her chosen tactic toward her brother's snide remarks
had been to spit on him. It came to define the extremes of her
irreverent and saucy character. Ten years later she found herself
regretting those choices and many others.
Llewellyn was wearing a pink lined blouse. It was a gift from her grandmother and she had kept it out of courtesy with no intent to ever wear it. It happened to be the only decent article of clothing left to her since her expulsion from the institute. The rest had been burned in a political maneuver by the institute's staff.
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Outside the restaurant, Llewellyn ambled by Fat And Happy eying the freshly dropped cigarettes of passersby and retrieving the ashing butts which she would inhale to an even unhappier nub.
"Not quite fat enough for the circus," a patron lady remarked after Llewellyn.
Llewellyn loved making married women happy. In her pleasant reverie she never expected to catch a glimpse of him bounding through the strip mall's parking lot. If only he had known about Llewellyn sooner. Unbeknownst to him, the final decision had been his.
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