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The Closest Thing to Heaven
‘I remember the way you used to walk, the swing in your hips, your long straight jet-black hair shielding your face as you walked from that old red brick classroom building over toward that old stone dorm that looked like a fortress. You know, the one you lived in your freshman year. You were in your black phase, remember? The old black cable knit sweater that hung down to your thighs, the dark olive corduroy skirt, the black tights. That sweater’s still in the closet, you know? Did you know I...