He unlatches, milk-mustached, eyes half closed, in a drunken stupor. I admire him for a moment and then: The clock starts ticking.
I’ve prepared everything I need for my cafe visit, laptops already in the bag, letter I need to mail to my insurance also there, breakfast eaten, outside clothes on. I’m ready.
I hand Flo the baby, put on my jacket, and head o…
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