And I walked out. That’s it, I walked out. Out of time, out of place, out of love, out of Eden, out out out. I had a pack of Pall Malls I carried in my back pocket in case of danger. I had a bracelet on my wrist bought from a Romani woman to protect me from the evil eye. I had taken his shirt, a blue flannel he wore in all weather, hellish hot and bitter cold, a magic fabric that flannel, and before I walked out his door forever, with the weight of his arm still in the memory of my shoulders and the shape of his curly head still in the shape of my fingers, I took his shirt and held it close and closed my eyes to get just that parting bit of smell and warmth, a magic fabric that flannel. All that amens you could ever ask for, I had said, and he had closed his eyes too. All the Amens I could ever ask for… I put the shirt back down where it lay bunched up in a pile on the sofa and I walked out the door of that apartment while he slept, never to see my true love again.

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