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Play.” It was 2 a.m., so I ignored him, rolled over and listened to more branches breaking until the sun bled through the blinds. I flung open the lounge door and found Andrew at the far end of the dim bar with two drinks and a plate of questionable food, laughing loudly like he’s known to do, and with a blond woman leaning into his shoulder, grinning, twisting his hair with her finger. I scan the newsroom to see if anyone else can mouth his scripted sermon, which has, at this point, grew so hackneyed that it’s like a good song gone bad with repetition.
“Let me think about it,” I type, wondering what I really think about it.Some likely questions come out of went on marry this man wish.