She got out of her 1994 Nissan Sentra, hobbling. Some visible, though vanishing bruises around her left eye couldn’t be concealed even with the heavy make-up she had on. She moaned and grimaced a bit as she shook my hands. “What happened, girl?” I asked her curiously. “Nothing, Fola, nothing”, she said, forcing a smile. “What do you mean by ‘nothing’? You are shuffling and hobbling, and you want me to believe that there is nothing?” She continued to force…
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