Twenty seven years on the outside, twenty seven years of living a life on borrowed time, the headlights flash past me and I shield my eyes, I know, too much description? Well, I’m not paying you to read this so why don’t you just piss off if it’s not working for you. The car comes to a stop and she gets out, all legs, miles of them, I swallow, she looks around the empty car park and we lock eyes, only for a moment, but in that time she smiles and marches towards me.
“Your Phelps?” she asks, the words slide off her tongue as if they were dipped in gold and encrusted with diamonds, I’m in love, pity I know she won’t reciprocate the feelings…
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