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“There’s a place in Chicago where it only rains from one place in the sky,” she hummed, sipping her lukewarm coffee, pieces of ash flecked the table. She tapped out a cigarette and brought it to her mouth. She ripped it from her lips as she took her first drag.

“Weird,” I replied. Rain pattered against the window. The grey sky flooded in through the side window. The wind whistled. She put out her half smoked cigarette and winced as she got up from the table. She plopped herself down on the couch. Cigarette burns lined the cushions. Old pillows.

“It’s time.” She spoke, pain in her voice. I walked over to her, removed the bandage over the place they cut open her chest. I jumped when I saw her wound. Teary eyed, she looked away as I placed a new bandage over her heart. A place where only part of her heart works. 

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