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had one more thing.
Phoebe, off the record, how long? 6 years. Jesus, I know.
You good? I will be. I hung up.
I poured the rest of my tea down the sink. It had gone cold. It was 7:34 a.m. in Denver, 3:34 in the afternoon in Barcelona.
My sister was somewhere on a side street in the Born district about to try to pay for tapas with a card that no longer continue reading …
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