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You can’t patch a wounded soul with a Band-Aid.
He could see that the jacaranda trees along the sidewalk were shedding their flowers. They had fallen like a violet snow on the ground and the cars parked along the curb.
He defined good company not by the conversation but by the lack of it. When there was no need to talk to feel comfortable, that was the right company.
He smoked and wondered if he could or would fall in love with her, and she with him. He was thrilled and disquieted by the thought, all at the same time.
