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The knock had happened on one of those other days, where the date reigned over its little space on the calendar's grid, no appointments, no holiday, a day that had entered with morning and frayed into dusk but that still bore its numeral in case anyone came back to fill it with something in retrospect.
"I prompt: A Black woman's hand near drawer" (onscreen, I receive three fingers, two thumbs, a foot made of fingers lurking, an unseen crouching body on top of the dresser)

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