I knew what she was thinking. "She is a slut or a prostitute," that was what most people thought about me when they first look at me. I was used to it, after all, built the way I was and the way I dressed. I was practically asking for it. I waved over at the woman as I passed her by the Oranges in the produce section. My heels clicked and clacked on the tile floor, and I smiled at the
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