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Shelly

Shelly decides it’s September.

“Nobody said it could be September,” says Wedgwood, when he blows in the door. His eyes are wide. “You didn’t check to see if it could be September.”

“I hate August,” says Shelly.

Wedgwood hesitates. “Because August was when we–”

“Because it’s hot,” she says.

“It’s all slipping now,” he says, “you made it too heavy at this end.”

“So merry early Christmas,” says Shelly, “go away.”

“You’re careless,” he says as October tumbles into Labor Day.

“You’re too critical,” she says.

“I know.” He breezes out the window.

Shelly hits winter hard, and cracks her lips.

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