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I saw you crying on the corner of Tompkins and Gates and asked what was wrong. I’m glad it was nothing serious.
We talked for hours on a bench outside a laundromat a block away. I told you about my time as a logger in Tasmania. You told me about your mother’s collection of commemorative spoons from every state.
I was an idiot and never got your information. Been hanging outside that laundromat hoping to run into you. Would love to see you again. If it’s really you, what’s the name of your bearded dragon?
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