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When I first saw her she was sitting alone, wearing a summer dress with purple polka dots. She smiled kindly at people who walked by and sometimes offered a word or two. Somehow, I knew things I did not want to know and yet there was no secret hidden in her sad smile. Was it the polka dot dress, her hair, her smile? I will always wonder and yet I am so thankful that I learned that her name was Francesca and that she loved to tap her nails quietly on the cafe tabletop.
"Rhythm." she said. "I love music."
She left the music with me as our coffee cooled.