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Queen of the Meadow

The sky was that color that reminds you painfully of the fact that you are colorblind and will never know your love’s hair true hair color, either. She sighed and wrapped up the last of her utensils. “Forget it,” she said to the monkey that had suddenly appeared on the handle bars of her bike. “I’m done for today. And it doesn’t matter what you think about it. Or what you throw at me.” She gathered up her stuff and dropped it in the bike’s cargo hold, pointedly ignoring the monkey’s cute antics. When she slammed the hold’s door shut with a lot more force than actually needed the monkey stuck out his tongue and vanished with a small sound that sounded almost not like a fart.

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