And then someone slides in beside me. “Can I sit here?” he asks, and my eyes snap open. It’s Cute Bram Greenfeld, of the soft eyes and soccer calves. I loosen the seat belt to let him in. And I smile at him. It’s impossible not to. “I like your shirt,” he says. He seems nervous. “Thanks,” I say. “It’s Elliott Smith.” The operator reaches over us and pulls the guardrail down, locking us in. “I know,” says Bram. There’s something in his voice. I turn to him, slowly, and his eyes are wide and brown and totally open. There’s this pause. We’re still looking at each other. And there’s this feeling
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