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		<title>Isabella | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/ifreyre</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Isabella</description>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
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			<title>Dilemma</title>
			<description>Cracked fortune cookie, blank message inside.&amp;nbsp;</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ifreyre/1365126/</link>
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			<title>Numb</title>
			<description>	What is there to do when there is nothing to do. But there is, here on this street corner. When there is nothing to do, there is always the grumbling of the stomach that stirs up a gnawing thought. Food for thought? Thought of food, of the feijoada my wife would make me every other We..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ifreyre/1363543/</link>
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			<title>Speck</title>
			<description>	We tugged at our kites. We had made them ourselves, collecting spare change we found on streets and saving the coins in a porcelain pig, whose plastic underbelly snap we undid to buy all the necessary materials. We had shaved wood for the cross spars, cut tissue paper, and fastened ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ifreyre/1363536/</link>
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			<title>Tears</title>
			<description>A gray towel hangs from the line. The string twinges as drops of soap hit the concrete floor.&amp;nbsp;</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ifreyre/1363535/</link>
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