Marge looked out her window wistfully and thought, I still care about this town. Yes, the kids steal my flowers, garbage men spill my garbage, my mechanic is a crook, the Women's Club is shallow, karaoke at the pub is worse, police ticket everything, my salon makes me sweat, my dry cleaner loses my clothes, house to house salesmen talk my ear off.
Yes, my ex husband lives only four blocks away with his new wife who works the register at the Panera where I sometimes lunch. Yes, my pastor puts me to sleep, my chiropractor touches me inappropriately, none of the kids want to shovel my walk.
But I was born and raised in this town and I will die here and I'm sure the funeral director will gouge my brother on expenses.
I'd better move away from the window because, yes, old man Wilson is standing naked in his parlor across the street and waving to me. He still cares about my well being and this is his way of showing solidarity between divorced people. I may or not get naked in the coming weeks. His birthday is coming up and I've run out of ideas for a present.
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