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That’s the trouble with childhood friends. They have long memories.
It’s funny how your mind rewrites history with the benefit of hindsight.
I order pancakes with crispy bacon and maple syrup, which, when they arrive, would feed me for an entire week, and my coffee cup is topped up without me asking for refills. I love America.
‘I suppose I might miss the moor,’ she says, and we both sit quietly for a moment, imagining how flawed a perfect life really is.
