“I want to hear your version. Don’t you think people should know your side of the story?” “No,” she says. “No?” She sips her white wine, eyes drifting to the window and that warm cobalt sky. Two more vultures have started circling. “No. It’s not my story, but I’ll tell it if that’s what you want. It’s hers. And it’s a love story.”
Oh tea, clock him gurlie pop
