She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. "Something more than whisky did that. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear.
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