It popped up overnight in the middle of a parking lot, that’s what Bernadette told herself. She imagined that gnomes and fairies and elves lived here or, at least, they sprung from its interior to slink around, only ever in the periphery of sight, to remind people to love their imagination. Of course, this is not what really happened. Instead, later, much, much later, Bernadette would learn that this was where her muse lived, in so much that a muse can “live” anywhere.
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