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She saw the man coming, a large man and one might say, foreboding. One might say such a thing, sensing danger which could manifest as skin prickles, a clot in the gut. She was not a fearful person on any frequent basis. But now she felt uneasy, though it had not yet grown dark and there were others on the street, scattered but available if she was to call out for help, should there be a clear threat and not just a man passing, whether angry or undone or whatever she made up from the ideas scrolling in her head.

 

 

 

Mercedes Lawry has published short fiction in several journals including Gravel, Cleaver, Garbanzo, and Newer York. She’s published poetry in journals such as Poetry, Nimrod, & Prairie Schooner and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize three times. Additionally, she’s published stories and poems for children. She lives in Seattle.

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