K went to the bar, temporarily turning their square into her triangle. Their ears still buzzed. Her supposed date observed, “You have a thing for guitarists.”
She shrugged uncomfortably, knowing he played. Her friend caught this, cutting in to correct him, like a reliable doorstop. “No,” he asserted protectively. “She wants to be the guitarist.”
Maisnon, A N N A, Andrea, Chai, et al, this is not a lifetime commitment to recovering the satellites. I'm not good at keeping to my word (or a word count).
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