The moon was low in the sky—a surreal and giant orange circle reflecting off the glassy pond. We sat there, shivering just a bit, even in spite of the temperature. WE talked.

"I know the things she says sometimes, they're coming straight from him, they're not really her thoughts."

We nodded.

"It's like he's a shit factory," she mused, flicking her cigarette ashes carelessly on the beach. "And sometimes, he delivers."

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