In the upstairs two girls in tutus run through the halls, shouting at each other to run and wake up.
The heavy breathing comes from a blonde in braided pigtails, who gives me a scrunched up nose and a nod with her folded flower headband. Smiling, the girl behind, in a purple sweatshirt and pink cheeks, power-pumps her arms with each stride. Two others run up from around the corner, shoeless with straightened hair, stop and yield to oncoming traffic. Purple stops, picks at the lip of a wax cup she picked up from the lounge, filled halfway with water, asks in a voice that smells of playdoh where the potty is.
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