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The St rangeness of t he Day by Krist ine Kat hryn Rusch Just once, she t hought , j ust once, she would like a lit t le magic in her life. She believed magic was possible, on days when t he sun shown t hrough t he clouds, on aft ernoons when rainbows dot t ed t he count ryside, on mornings when t he light was so sharp it looked as if everyt hing had been freshly made. Not on a day like t his. On a day like t his, all she want ed was someone t o come home t o, a man t o cook her meals and rub her feet , and laugh at t he sheer st rangeness of t he day. That was what she was t hinking about as she exit ed t he elevat or int o t he bowels of t he parking st ruct ure below her office building. The concret e st ruct ure smelled like gas fumes, and t he light ing, even in t he middle of t he day, was a gray florescent t hat made her t hink of rain. She rounded a corner, her heels clicking on t he concret e, and
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