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I can’t help but s about the way she teases me It warms me the way the sun used to

I slip my cell into my pocket, fill my bottle at the nearest fountain, run the half a mile back to Venice, then the twenty blocks to my apartment

A hot shoashes away the day, but it’s not enough

The invitation is still sitting on my desk

Without my contacts, it’s a blur of white and silver An anonymous reason for celebration

When I slide lasses on, the words come into focus

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Penelope Winters and Francis Hobbs

It’s still happening

There’s still no way I can stomach it alone

And it’s still a terrible idea finding a fake girlfriend

I aure this out Somehow

I push it aside as I pull up Leighton’s design on my laptop

It’s perfect

I grab my cell and shoot her a text

Ryan: Fucking a