She had very frizzy hair indeed, very black eyebrows, a profusion of metallic adornments about her neck and waist, and an engaging smile. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot.
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