Her skin had an algae feel to it, the kind that grows on giant clam shells. Like when we were kids and went swimming the stagnant pond, the one in our woods, just up the hill and around the big rock. Stripped all down to our shorts we plunged in feet first and against the soles of our feet we felt the squishy lake bottom, the primordial mud with green fuzz all over top of it. Sometimes you’d swear as your feet sunk down that the rest of your body would follow, being sucked under to live our your last days amongst a mud-dwelling society, whose only tools and shelters were all made from mud, for that is all they know. Yes, he skin was fine.
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