Our final story of the day comes from Scott Indrisek.
Coyle was visibly distressed, that much was clear from the hiccuping of her sternum held close against mine; we’d come out of the hospital into a bitchingly chill wind, clasping manila envelopes of bad news. Homeward and speechless we sailed, intent on ignoring the vestigial tail rumped outwards like a teapot’s nub in her jeans.
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