CM

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CM

CM

Once, in South Africa, I became violently sick after eating white rice meant for the dogs. It was in the fridge in a glass bowl, misty with cold, wrapped tightly in cling film. I remember this because it was around the time I was forcefully kissed by a man who had no business attempting such a thing. An early morning, in my single bed, the rest of the house empty and silent. It was Valentine’s Day– the irony is not lost on me. My ankles had been bitten a hundred times by mosquitoes in the night. Sejo had called immediately

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