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41 Film Noir she says I had to prove the right to wear this uniform—show I’m not just some movie slut hamming it up for the camera still at night my fingers hurt from holding my weapon up close and I can’t remember my last manicure or how a real bath feels but when I hit the bricks with the boys I know nobody out here cares who’s under that flak jacket or how many bullets are left in my clip—nothing personal man or woman bleed the same chasing a line of ghosts someone thought they saw a minute ago—chasing bullets whistling from shadows that turn into sand—nothing you can put your finger on she says we sweep the gutters clean and hope 42 the only sound we’ll hear is the rush of blood in our ears at night we dream the whole damned world is shutting down ...

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