She moves through the restaurant, plates spilling from her arms like feathers on a bird.  Her name is Margarita.  She dances to the clink of the oldies playing on a table-sized jukebox. Her hair is pinned up; each bobby pin representing a different cycle of her life.  One bobby pin stands for the men in her life: an alcoholic father now disabled and bare in a nursing home.  Another one for a boyfriend, scared of her pool-playing skills, that ran off. But not even in the middle of the n...


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