Fiction | June 01, 1990
Do What You Want
Max Phillips
Sara was dancing a little to keep her feet off the cold, gritty cement. The reflection in the glass doors stopped her: an enormous young woman, nearly six foot four and muscular, jigging in the nude through the darkened pool house. Herself. She relaxed with an effort and began to hum and shimmy again, towelling her flanks. Sara had a big, indistinct jaw, small black eyes, and chestnut hair in a braid the size of a child’s arm. It hung along her spine, hard and heavy with water.
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