The woman in the elevator with me has an accent that is warm and gooey. She says “down,” but I hear “up.” It’s unsettling.
I stare at the sentences coming out of her mouth in curvy script. Depending on my area of focus, letters become other letters. Like the drawing that is both a rabbit and a duck. I duck, to see her vowels from the bottom. Rabbits. Each letter sentenced to stew in the goo of her accent.
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