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Kelly Jean Fitzsimmons 15 Minutes of Princess

Stepping into The Great Movie Ride’s break room, I was surprised by its dinginess. The small red couches were saggy and tattered; the fluorescent lighting soul sucking. The other tour guides were all crowded around a long cafeteria table in the middle of the room staring up at a large television watching Days of Our Lives. Except for the TV, this employee back room wasn’t too different from the one at the movie theater where I worked in Virginia. Even the uniforms were strikingly similar with their polyester black pants and white button-up shirts. I could already feel the familiar tingle of chub-rub on my inner thighs caused by the unholy trinity of itchy synthetic fabric, humidity, and what I like to think of as womanly curves. A year after graduating high school, I’d moved

from the summer humidity of Virginia to the year-round humidity of Florida, added red suspenders and matching pageboy cap to my uniform, and about a dollar an hour to my paycheck, but here in the house Mickey built, I was no longer a mere employee. I was a

Profile for Kerri Foley

Crack the Spine - Issue 130  

Literary Magazine

Crack the Spine - Issue 130  

Literary Magazine

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