Layered

“She’s going to suffocate. She’s going to die.”

“She does this every day. She’ll be fine.”

“It’s boiling out. I’m sweating half to death in a t-shirt. And she’s so bundled up I can’t even make out a human shape under all those layers.”

“Every day, man.”

“Why does she do it?”

“Maybe she’s got some kind of sun allergy. Maybe she’s afraid a dog will attack her. Maybe there is no girl under there. Maybe it’s a ghost, or an invisible person.”

“Or she wishes she was.”

“Yes. That may be it.”

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