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September 20, 2007
“Annabelle’s?” he says. The local dive is more proletariat than aristocrat, and I nod in assent.
One faked page later, and I’m in the hallway fifteen minutes before the lecture ends; my colleague soon follows.
”I should care more,” I say.
“If I were you,” he says, “I’d probably care even less.”
There’s a clumsy silence, heightened by the still autumn air, the kind that amplifies sound, if there was any. Now it was only my heels clicking on the pavement keeping my stomach from touching the back of my tongue.
“I’ll drive.”
All I can do is nod again.