My mother’s red lipstick and fingernails looked dark in the twilight. She was pregnant, her belly just popped, and the crowd parted to make way for her. We set up our tent on the second ball rolling, along with two folding aluminum chairs. Crowds are gathering for the ceremony. The smoke rising from the portable grills made the atmosphere more stuffy. I sat still on my father’s lap and he let me take a sip of beer. My mother sat and fanned herself with a Sunday Caricature. Mosquitoes hovered around our heads under the purple sky.
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