![]() ![]() ![]() She slammed her cup down, splattering coffee on the counter. The intercom interrupted her dark thoughts. Why not max out my credit card with their finest wine, ooh, and chocolate mousse? That new five star French restaurant a few blocks away would serve a hell of a final dinner. No time to complete a bucket list, but at least she’d make time for a last meal. Mere chance? Weird karma? Or just a self-destructive method to avoid paying student loans? Still, her grandmother, mother and maternal ancestors four generations back were unwilling members of the 27 Club. ![]() You didn’t have to be a doctor to understand that. Cancer and strokes were heredity, not day of death. Her father insisted it was just a horrible coincidence. She came from a long line of first-born women who died on the day or within days of their twenty-seventh birthday. ![]() Along with Kurt Cobain, Jimmy Hendrix, and Amy Winehouse, she was a member of the 27 Club. She glanced at the calendar for the umpteenth time. All things did, on one’s last day on earth. She added crème and swirled until it was the right light-mocha color before that first glorious sip. Dora Adler took a break and poured herself a mug of fresh coffee. ![]()
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