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Rilo

It is, unfortunately, laundry day again; tomorrow Riley will be improvising socks out of newsprint. He sighs, fills the mesh bag to bursting, and girds himself for battle.

Except he doesn’t literally gird himself because he’s been commando for a week.

“Hi, Ceely,” he says as he backs through the door.

“Oh my God!” says Ceely, delighted. “We’re always here at the same time!”

“Weird,” says Rilo, who’s seen her staking the place out for weeks.

“You are so stalking me.”

“Everybody does laundry,” mutters Rilo, jamming whites into reds with one foot.

“Hey,” says Ceely, “seen your cat this week?”

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