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Sistah, Take Your Time

I drove Maw Maw’s huge Impala, made for making out with long bench seats—you could fit four couples in it, easy. We parked on Melpomene, a street that sits along the thin line between the haves and have-nots, and steamed up the windows in the Impala kissin’ and carryin’ on even though I knew that this was a dangerous thing to do. But it was summer and the azaleas were blooming and scenting up the thick air, and we fit so well into each other’s arms.
— Amy Thigpen

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