She stood in evening air as cold as she’d become. A funeral in January, resignation in February had set the stage for the following ten months, during which Kiran was blinded by fog too thick to navigate, a barrier erected between herself and every single one she knew. It was only now, burning bridges extinguished and a corner in the road imminent, that she could see with perfect vision: the possibility of easier times, a year of symmetry and synergy. Finishing her final cigarette, Kiran returned from the porch and joined the others to begin the countdown.
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"Classic"
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