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The dress, friend of the wind
Sitting by the back window of the car, music in my ears, icy air on my face, mind blank, eyes wide and watching. I notice that next to me, a few inches away, a white dress is hanging from a hook.
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My head is an eight-year-old girl and she’s gone on vacation
My cheeks smile, turn into two pieces of chocolates, and a grimace crosses my face. It tells my fingers to follow its rhythm. Head that usually goes many (several) kilometers per hour, now stealthily descends.