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How You Know You’re in trouble. Awake at three. Not working. Feeling dizzy. The narrative with you on top— It’s toast. This morning, you were trifling with his back, wanting his elbow to brush your breast—just for the jolt— and if you have the composure to ask— which I never do— it’s just another hormonal storm brought to you by a lifetime of weather another too-smart stranger helping you into his car, helping you out of your clothes, another calamity with your name tattooed on his butt.
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