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Mandy

Mandy gets the heels off the minute she’s in the door, doesn’t bother leaving the porch light on–Katja won’t be back tonight–and there’s a knock.

Her fingers on the door screen: he’s swaying on the porch, but she knows he’s not really drunk. He’ll have just enough medication to let himself do this. Just enough to forget his girlfriend, tonight.

What’s the ugly phrase dangling between them, she wonders. “Second place?” “Fallback?” “A bit on the side?”

Some things are so obvious there are no words for them. Truths, or consequences.

She opens the door and lets him in.

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