Xerox Girl

I*zz*ie made m*y* heart strings *q*ui*v*er like a bow pulled across a *v*iolin. A herd of ga*z*elles and *z*ebras chased butterflies in m*y* *q*uickl*y* constricting chest.
I watched her work the *x*ero*x* machine at Kinkos. I had gi*v*en her a *z*an*y* fl*y*er with a *xy*lophone on it and asked for a *z*illion copies. I watched her pla*y*full*y* *q*uip with the photo print booth guy, en*v*ious of e*v*er*y* e*y*elash batting she ga*v*e him.
Tr*y*ing to be sua*v*e, I *q*uoted Don *Q*ui*x*ote lines at her.
She *q*uickl*y* *z*eroed in on m*y* intentions and cornered me with *z*eal.
“Oh, let me *q*ui*z* you!” said the *x*ero*x* *q*ueen, the *v*i*x*en of Kinko’s. I e*x*haled.
Her *v*er*y* e*x*istence deli*v*ered *v*ibes of e*x*citement to my ner*v*es. It was this *z*ookeeper’s *q*uid pro *q*uo e*v*er*y* Frida*y*. I ga*v*e her copies; she ga*v*e me e*x*uberance!
I was in lo*v*e!

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