He doesn’t really talk about them. At least, he never tells me anything I want to know, their hang-ups or what kind of pretty they are. He tells only half a story about each of them, and he tells it three times. Verbatim, as if he has it written on the cuff of his sleeve. Normally he doesn’t have two words to rub together, but when he does, something kind of flickers. These broken sparks and the three-times-telling make his exes seem mythical, crystalline.
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