Long damn night, he said. I've left a message. He gave me a look that was so like one of Jean-Claude's that it was unnerving. He wasn't burning.
The two of you are not romantics. Micah went for the phone, while I stood in the darkened living room and prayed for it not to be the police. Again, I ask, what else has happened? How do you know anything happened? I asked, and was already willing to be suspicious. I shook my head and felt that faint anger fade away.
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