I’m late.
Nineteen minutes late to be exact.
“On my way!” I text Faye, the metal door to my apartment building slamming behind me.
In the street in front of me, two wooden nightstands sit in the trash pile.
I snap a picture and send them to Faye.
“Should I take?” I ask.
“No,” she fires back. “Not cute enough.”
She’s right. They aren’t beautiful by any me…
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