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92

It was crazy nights in cheap motels off of Mission. Too much to drink, getting stoned in back patios and parking lots. Banging head boards and flesh, condom wrappers all over the floor, and people pounding on walls.

It was lonely, rainy days at a window. Hours fit into days, and minutes fit into hours.

Secret hand signals in meetings, thumbs on thighs under conference room tables. Emails sent on company time, to company accounts.

Ducking under awnings, avoiding the rain, Sunday morning coffee.

. . .

You know what I would like to see? I want him to just pull up and get you. To just drive all the way here, and be there, in front of your house, to say �Come on, Carie. Let�s go.� You would go wouldn�t you?

In a heart beat.

8:33 p.m. - 2002-10-15

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