Like a spring wind, she moves through the crowd, refreshing, subtle, distinct. Her dark hair pinned loosely from her face, a a tide of gentle curls offsetting her white cotton blouse.
Like a spring wind, she moves through the crowd, refreshing, subtle, distinct. Her dark hair pinned loosely from her face, a a tide of gentle curls offsetting her white cotton blouse. 
 1950s stories
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murphyslaw
murphyslaw Stories based on my dreams&nightmares💤
Autoplay OFF   •   2 months ago
If the 1950s weren’t racist, homophobic, & every other Xenophobic -ism in the world.

(I’ll add more if there’s interest)

Like a spring wind, she moves through the crowd, refreshing, subtle, distinct. Her dark hair pinned loosely from her face, a a tide of gentle curls offsetting her white cotton blouse.

Her gentle eyes a stark contrast to the hard grimace stealing her smile. A grimace that traveled swiftly from the unwanted advance before her as she retrieved her tanned arm from the man now trailing in her wake.

I want to reach out and offer her something, anything, but I can’t help smiling at the strength vibrating off her. She doesn’t need me, and she sure as shit doesn’t need that bastard.

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