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Emory

A few days later, Emory sits down with two piles. One is of photographs.

He takes his time with each one, running the X-acto around each curve of her arm, each coat wrinkle. He lays the pieces down and traces them, leaving some overhang. Then he brushes the edges of the Kodak paper with watered glue.

Emory replaces Gloria with color and texture: he outlines slick blue wrapping paper, wrinkles and smooths aluminum foil, cuts out a piece of Goodwill tartan skirt that smells of moths. He frames that one, but leaves the glass off. The fabric warms to his touch.

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