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Around the handle of the suitcase hung the luggage tag. Stamped on the leather was a street address and city, no name. She was among many to be sent there, and she would return the tag upon arrival, so her name held no importance. She became fixated on the detail they had made trivial. The tag with no name. The passenger with no name. She felt herself disappearing with each step toward the gate. But the plane was waiting. As were they.

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