men in the park and other lame things | dorothy ellen palmer

It’s the hottest day in July, but it’s not the sun that’s making me sweat. It’s a man. I’m alone in a park and a grizzled, smoking stranger in a dirty t-shirt is staring at me. He’s shifty. Nervous. Standing in the grass off to my left. Staring when he thinks I’m not looking. Shifting…

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