Baby lust. You disappear for weeks and sneak up beside me as I am walking down the hill the the light rail. I can feel your weight on my left hip, the ghost toddler, whispering half words in my ear. There is not a baby in sight, just the usual hustling, scurrying trench coats, drab charcoal, boring beige, hipster black, scuttling to the next bus stop and parking garage. Where did you come from? Who let you out in this rain?

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