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Mug

It’s tattooed across my forehead. You can’t see it. It’s in some special ink but it glows whenever he is around like the trails left by bees and ants near a tasty snack or a particularly fertile wildflower meadow. Invisible to the human eye, it sends out a clear message to him. “Come on here, she’s ripe to swallow your honeyed crap today; drop your best line and wait.” I fall for it every time.


Paragraph Planet 16.4.17

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