Pretty in Pink
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Liebgott lit another cigarette and blew smoke into the passing breeze. “So whadda ya gonna do after ya graduate?”

Webster cleaned the last bit of applesauce from his C-rat and smiled modestly. “Probably teach or work for a paper. Write books on the side.”

“You wanna be a writer?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

Liebgott shrugged. “Nothin’. Just thought, yanno, with your looks and all . . . you’d wanna be a ballerina or an actor or somethin’.”

Webster glared at him. “Yeah. I’ve got a pair of pink satin slippers hidden in my duffel, but let’s just keep that between us girls.”

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