Imagine Marlene

Marlene. She’s a real sweetheart, a little short-tempered, but pretty in a department store kind of way. She was a real bitchy little number, short hair, too much makeup, but she could turn on the charm when she wanted something. Tall, good-looking woman. She sure knew her way around the bedroom, but not around the cornstalks, she liked the city too much. She was always talking, always wanted to go to the movies, and kept up with all those film star magazines. She was loud but pretty, spent too much time in front of the mirror. She was everything, she was nothing, pretentious, too scared to move, frightened of her own shadow, she owned her goddamn shadow, she didn’t know how to listen, she didn’t know how to talk, she had daddy issues, she had mama problems, she wasn’t good enough, she was better than, she wasn’t right in the head. Marlene was anyone and no one at the same time.

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