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'Not now, Skop. I am seriously not in the mood. I thought you were here to cheer me up.' 'I am. Would you like me to take a shit in one of his shoes?'
'I doubt that. He just told me never to talk to him again.'  'Which is angry-man-god-speak for: I'd very much like to have sex with you.'
He loved me. I could see it in his face, hear it in his broken voice, feel it in his electrifying touch. All this time, all those years alone in New York, and someone, somewhere, loved me this much. And I never knew.















































