She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. “Because I know for a fact that she was having sex with Gary Rothko during homecoming Freshman year and she let him pork her up the ass. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. You’re of age— you’re of age. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. ‘She’s gone.
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