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He hangs his head. “Look, we were both drunk and horny, and while the location may not have been ideal—”
“It was a dumpster.”
“It was a dumpster.”
He clears his throat, and it takes everything in me not to recoil from the spittle that lands on my cheek.
“And you like…put makeup on dead bodies?”
“They don’t bite,” I assure him.
“They don’t bite,” I assure him.
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