The row of apartment buildings looks dirty and worn. A screen door slams open, and Avis runs out. She's covered in newly forming bruises and scrapes. A particularly angry-looking scrape marks her temple. Red stains have bled through her jacket. She sprints into the street without even looking for cars and keeps running, until the apartment is out of sight. Avis leans against a brick wall and slides down, her face in her arms.
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Joined March 7 2015
Our opinions are not equal when your opinion does not respect my existence.