There goes that dark-haired girl.. once again. Is she a spy? What a common accident in the Fiction Department, ironic. Was she watching me? Was she stalking me? The letter she gave me... "I love you." Thought-crime... Was she toying with me? Did she earn the right to do such of a political act? We passed each other, but with no word... What is this supposed to mean? Why? Was it safe to approach? Not until others have... The need for conformation, the need for assurance. Everyone treated oh so differently... Eurasians, Eastasians, treated like animals. What was this? Why was this? The date... How nervous of me... The Date. The location, How do I remember. The date... The crowd, oh the crowd. The expression of love, what an act, a thought-crime. In the crowd... In this devoted gesture. Her eyes brown... the gorgeous brown. The stares, the bad romance.
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