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A Few Short Words

Dense Not Thick

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Plate

Meal

I can’t even remember my order, just her smooth black contour semi-crouched in the brazier lit courtyard and the mallow whites of her eyes attacking a wall of soft chocolate pupils. She could have said, I’ll kill the animal myself, bared teeth and claw, smiling panther wild in the urban jungle. I would have said, yes, certainly, animal cowed and agape. Either way, what’s on my plate is far beyond me and her only a glance away, eager, fleet, and sharp. My throat becomes horse and she’s there with canines and water, enamel begging lamb to the slaughter.

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Swearing

I never told you I was good, I guess that’s the difference between being a shitty person and a really shitty person. ‘Is that,’ Laura closes her eyes and does that cliché brow rub thing, ‘is that your excuse? I should’ve known you’d be a prick because you never promised to be nice?’ She grabs the nearest thing, a dollars worth of Ikea plate, and flings it past me to land on the couch with the apathetic thump of an empty threat. That was sorta shitty, I say. Laura weighs another plate, ‘I never promised to have good aim.’

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