The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. You knew me in Paris. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. It’s just upon my lunch-time. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents.
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