Chapter Five

On Sunday February 12th. High contrast, wood texture and grainy. Sometimes wet, sometimes dry. Sometimes cold, other times hot. Brown, green, tall. Petrified, isolation. Desolate. Wives more dominant than their husbands. Wooden shoes, gouda cheese, and civil war. The girls in clogs giving one hard ons, if she could have them. She had given up on visiting Marseilles, at least for the time being. Her life was as silent as the S.

She dreamed of supernatural forces chasing after her. And yesterday's years she would be woken up to her poodle looking her nose. All that black fur, all that doggy shampoo. She remembered her dog as if she were still here. Yet she has not been around, for almost an entire year. And now she looks beyond the window glass, hoping for something to life. She didn't need conflict, she was conflict herself. Culminating in personal decay and disarray.

Can misery come again some other day? Yet now she thinks of girl in Swedish clogs, and Dutch klompen giving her lap dances.

More to life, many chances.

Many wives. Her life dreaming of Mediterranean seas and Gouda cheese.

It was grocery day, the day before her next remote viewing session. Her mom arrived at non to take her to various shops. These were various ones she had been to since the time she met Katie. She would gave for the normal goods, and later go for the spices: Thai Chilly Powder, Haldi, and Turmeric. If there was anything Arline liked as much as her new magnets, it was cooking. Many dishes were made, such as peanut butter chicken. She has to adjust the spice since her trip up to Washington, strange considering that most people up north dislike any spice.

At night she scans the walls, scans the flag poles, and anything she can get her hands on. She can find things in places she could not ordinarily sense. The whole world was suddenly available to her in different senses: magnetism and remote sensing across various points in the globe. Yet she knew that any sort of body modification was not looked highly upon, particularly in the south. Here you could be dumped into a sewer simply for being a trans person, this she knew knowing of some people that had mysteriously gone missing, and dying from a degree of poisoning and red skin. The city life in Chattanooga was not much different from the life in Smyrna, Tennessee. The main difference is your door was from the inside, rather than from the outside.

Arline would purchase cigarillos, in packs of six. She would pack all them into three, throw other the other than empty packs. Then use the receipt as a cigarette roller in order to hide her purchase. She took extra steps to ensure her anonymity, but because of her mother's tendency to get into her space, she might "accidentally" sneak a look into her purse when purchasing instant coffee. That was how life was for Arline, who never caught a break from her mom.

Yet now that she lives in her own, it didn't matter much what her mother thought, and someday she would permanently break off the relationship. Even if it took an amount of force to do this.

It was simply a matter of time.

At home she smokes cigarillos and vaporize mint. She was told by her mother that likes to think she knows everything, that Arline has no shin splints.

Never mind not being a doctor.

Immobile with magnetism.

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