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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 450

I would sit outside the Bluewave Car Wash on Santa Monica Blvd watching the cars roll by. Cement trucks would spew out fumes as they sped in sync with the gray-haired men in their red Ferraris. When I was bored enough I would walk into the gift shop, greeted by an array of gossip magazines and bug-eyed stuffed animals, staring blankly at me. I would go over to touch their fuzzy outsides and squeeze their plush bellies like stress balls. Glimpses of the World Market across the street were visible only through a small window in the shop.

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