The Flower In The Garden

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It came to the point that I would look at the refrigerator and it would look back at me, I would say hello and it would reply back, I would ask “what’s for dinner” and it would reply back, “I don’t know. There isn’t much I can do for you.” We went on for a while, repeating the same jargon, looking flashy and studying the script, imagining the day the door would open and I would see the flower in the garden.

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