hardwood floor. There seems to be a baby in her arms.
"Well, they was Margaret Jo, Mary Jean, Tranelle and Margretta. Each of them girls was a member of the club. 'Course now, we lost Mary Jean 'bout a week ago." Pausing. "It was ve'y unfortunate how sh' wuh playin' so close to a street like that. Umm mmmm," shaking her head. "Po thang neve' did seen it comin' like that! No, she sure didn't." In a sing-song voice, "No she didn't. No she didn't."
Ms. Mamie giggles with joy as she perceives a cooing baby.
Squinting, Ms. Mamie looks away from the door, places an empty, dirty coffee mug on an old, scratched end table, continues with her tale and starts with a smirk and a scratch to the back of the head.
"Now, in the beginning, they was only three of them girls. Ummm hmmmmmm. They was three girls and it started out as jes' somethin' that kep' them girls bus-y. Pujibity. They ca'd theyselves, "The Buttahfly Guild," Looking away, "Sho was. Ummm hmmmm." Her tempo accelerates, "M.J., Trane
Short, odd, experimental writing that could use an editor for spelling and word choice. " not all dissociative's are aware," "flair-legged Levi's," "my parched palette," "I'm not going to star now," "never roused me to surrender to that inclement," and "the cold that envelopes us," are some of the mistakes that jarred me out of what I was reading and made me wonder if any of what was on the page was what the author meant to say.
Experimental doesn't work if the technique is sloppy.