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what to wear when…living in a post-apocalyptic world where the sun dims each day. temperatures plummet and systems crumble. she chews her shaking fingers and sings old ad jingles, her voice thin and stringy, trying to distract herself from the way her heart thumps slow in the cold, how her near-frozen blood chugs under greasy skin. there is no next generation to preserve order for, there are no consequences. futurelessness is more toxic than sewage.
post 84 of an infinity-part series
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