"She's preening, pinching her cheeks and smudging red onto her lips. The wings of her eyeliner are sharper than knives. Despite her peacocking, her hair is still the colour of wet sand, delicate nose still adorned with reddish-brown freckles (the colour of dried blood beneath fingernails--a sunset over the Colorado--bullet casings rusted over centuries), and there's still those premature wrinkles between her arched eyebrows." -I'm the Bomb and I'm About to Blow Up

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