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January 1, 2005
Anchovies dipped in lard and sprinkled with chopped olives. Sour milk. Two-week-old fat-speckled salami covered in a layer of its own rancid slime. Cottage cheese gone furry and green. Tripe.

These are all more appetizing to Laura than the thought of ever having sex with him again. She can't believe she ever let him see her body, let alone touch any part of it with any part of his. How could she ever have let this person who doesn't floss his teeth, who doesn't wash his face at bedtime, whose feet are so goddamned filthy ... fuck her? Ever?

Never again.