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Cadie

His stupid chapstick keeps turning up in her cup holders, coat pockets, backpacks and jeans. He liked the old-style black tube and he’d take the car out sometimes to go hunting for it, at convenience stores inconveniently far away. Then he’d lose it. And she’d forget she’d picked it up.

What do you do with the stuff? Can’t recycle it, can’t use it. The one time Cadie put a shirt through the dryer with a stick in the breast she broke down. Can’t clean it off either. Stains on her heart pocket, and ghosts she doesn’t need on her lips.

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