Video games, and a final chokeslam to Trish. "I never lose at games like these, honey. Even if I'm Trish, I'll win."
Boyhood photos.
Sparks.
The entire city before me, wind through my hair. An undercurrent. Dusk.
Swerving in and out to finally arrive. Soft eyes on me.
Fragile.
And sleepy complaints about too much tenderness.
A funny thought struck. It's all the difference between vertical and horizontal stripes really.
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