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The Cleaner

She’s a ghost. I see her everywhere.
Dressed in her camel coat, she’s
always somewhere near. If I’m
driving the car, she’s passing on
the bus. If I’m walking, she’s a few steps
behind. If I’m going to bed, she’s
under my window. Staring. Silently.
I know she was a mistake.
Why? Now I’m in a dark alley. Alone.
She’s facing me. Holding a gun.
I can’t see her eyes. They are hidden
under big brown fancy sunglasses.

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