There was an oddly shaped piece of pink paper in the middle of the street. A man on his way to work walked over to examine it. He looked down from a "respectable distance," couldn't decide, and then proceeded on to the office. A young girl interrupted her skipping on her way to school to stand on the curb and scrutinize it from a safe distance. Two different cats going opposite directions sniffed at it when the sun was in two different places in the sky, but only its aura, really. Nobody could be quite sure. A squirrel hopping across the street like a cursor also stopped briefly and had a metaphysical encounter with the crumpled form. Then night came and it was left to be itself, blissful or cursed. It was pink. It was a pink slip.
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