Out of Here

Out of Here

Please, please! I want out of here! She pressed her hands on the subway pole really hard and wished her stop would be next. No, there were 7 more to go. And nobody to give me a seat—a tiny little space on the light blue thing. It is not just the subway, she thought. It is everything. Hard is hardly the word to describe the way things are. Out of here! I would fly away like a bird and never come back. I would take what matters most to me and just disappear. Thinking of out of here makes my heart race. It is such a nice, healthy idea. It is an idea whose time has come.


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