One hundred words on Palestine ::

Sir. The man had paid when the barista stopped him. Sir. She pointed to his cheek. You have a— He half-raised a hand and answered in vowels, Oh, I— She gestured with her hand. He hesitated. She gestured again. Here, she said. He leant forward and she lifted her finger, stroked it across his cheek and held the eyelash out. Like a birthday cake, she said. Make a wish. He said, It might not come true, but she shrugged. Give it a chance. He blew, but he died before his country attained statehood as he had always feared he might.

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