Tiny
Hot tears burned my eyes as I leaned down to pick up another stack of J.C. Penney winter catalogs. I dropped the stack on the rumbling conveyor belt and brushed away the tears with my fingers. Crying out in pain, I looked down at my stinging hands. They were red and raw, covered in hundreds of little paper cuts from the thin pages of the catalogs. The salty tears had seeped into the cuts, causing even more pain.
I looked around, embarrassed, and picked up another stack of books—carefully, so that I didn’t incur more tiny flesh wounds.
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