And another day begins in this horrible environment created by mediocre decisions and suffocating fear. It has been exactly ninety-three days since she came home from the club and melted away within the arms of her other lover. The scene still plays as a continuous loop in your mind: you waited outside her apartment until three in the morning, her bitch roommate having thrown you out around midnight. Enveloped in the bitter frost for three hours you had made the decision to walk across the street to your own home when a beat-up Regal came to a stuttering stop before you. He exited the car and walked over to the passenger side, murmuring a "hey, slick" in your general direction (the bastard) before opening her door (the pissing shitwank). She hadn't noticed you when she drew herself from the automobile. Your eyes instantly gravitated toward the four-inch heels she had on, she had completely refused to ever wear for a night out in the two and a half years you had been together. She kissed him warmly, somehow taking the weather with her, removing the gales of wind momentarily. After forever, they separated and she gave him the same 'fuck-me' smile she used to use on you. He went back to his rotting hulk of decadent machinery (opportunistic jackass) and sped off into the night. As she watched him peel off she noticed you for the first time. "Hi," she said, plainly. "I found somebody else. Can I have my key back?" That's how Indihar got herself the hell out of your life. *** MORE ***
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