They turned the corner that joined Michelle's street to her own. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. \"I'm gonna hit the showers while I'm here, do you mind waiting a few minutes?\" \"Not at all.
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