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Tuesday night, Charity’s place. Clementine scrubs off in the bathroom while Glory smooths plaster over Faith’s nose. Margaritas and Bob Seger; penny poker.

“There’s still Vaseline in my eyebrows.” Angel grimaces and raises a dime.

“No,” says Glory, “they just feel weird afterward. I’ve made a million of these, they’re perfect for the job. They’ll melt in water.”

“And I won’t have pantyhose over my eyes,” says Charity. “See a quarter, raise a quarter, call.”

Angel drops queens over eights.

“You weren’t bluffing!” Charity stares. “You had to be–”

“Nobody sees through this, sweetie.” Angel grins and rakes in the change.

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