07.12.05

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Plump West Indian women can turn back time, shooing away flies with a paper plate under the humid sun. Her hair covered in a wrap, loose clothes flowing around her, take a picture and again you are anywhere, any time. Old clacking mama dancing to the beat of a full drum is eternal. The closest Jung has come be being right.
Old black mama has a daughter, has a grand daughter running around in patent black shoes. Her hair glistens with oil and the heat makes her dress limp. Eyes wide, she stares at you and will run pitter patter when mama calls. She already knows how to curtsy.

shi-ou-sama at 11:31 a.m.

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