Flora Jefferson was quite a character, I observed from the front porch. She cut through the yard of the neighbouring house with dark curls and an arrangement of flowers through her hair. Her sleeves were rolled up with an assortment of coloured bands all the way from her wrist to half way up her forearm as she carried a heavy looking box.
“She’s in the year below us,” Tess piped up. She was lying on her stomach, earphones in, but she pulled them out to join the conversation and our overly-creepy staring at the new neighbour.
“Kinda hot,” Quinton said, nodding in appreciation. “Well, from this distance anyways. Maybe she’s heaps ugly up close.”
Flora Jefferson was quite a character, I observed from the front porch. She cut through the yard of the neighbouring house with dark curls and an arrangement of flowers through her hair. Her sleeves were rolled up with an assortment of coloured bands all the way from her wrist to half way up her forearm as she carried a heavy looking box. “She’s in the year below us,” Tess piped up. She was lying on her stomach, earphones in, but she pulled them out to join the conversation and our overly-creepy staring at the new neighbour. “Kinda hot,” Quinton said, nodding in appreciation. “Well, from this distance anyways. Maybe she’s heaps ugly up close.”
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