She smiles – but, life having burned the bridge of her nose, it no longer has a means to travel from her lips to her eyes. “I hate him,” she says, in the same tone she used to order her decaf latte, taking a sip and trying not to spill on the perfectly white tablecloth.

She smiles – but, life having burned the bridge of her nose,
it no longer has a means to travel from her lips to her eyes.
“I hate him,” she says,
in the same tone she used to order her decaf latte,
taking a sip
and trying not to spill
on the perfectly white tablecloth.
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