The Temp
The Temp
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Marianne was trying to find a way to balance her weight between her two feet so that she looked less like what she very obviously was – atleast twenty years younger than everyone in her class. Near the back of the class she spied Marisol fidgeting with her scarf and instinct took over and she made her way through the narrow rows until she was right next to the Mexican woman, “You know Marisol, you have really nice shoulders. You shouldn’t be trying to bulk them up with that scarf.”