Dalton

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* * *

  It’s nearing midnight when there’s finally a knock at our new front door. Libby is already crashed face down on the futon. She’d assured me three hours ago she was just lying down because was worn out from all the excitement, and that definitely she would not be going to sleep, definitely.

  I don’t blame her for shutting down prematurely. We had both been struggling all afternoon to stay conscious after Fuuka – Sakamoto-san’s secretary – bowed her way out of the apartment. It was an intimate affair, with a bathroom, a kitchen and an absolutely everything else room making up the four hundred square feet that I come to call home over the next few months.

  I step over Libby and down from the elevated hardwood of the main room, my bare feet cold against the tiles below. I look through the peephole for no other reason than I’ve never had a peephole but always wanted one, so I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make the most of it, and see him, in all his glory, waiting outside. I swing the door open with an excitement I didn’t know I could muster and find him just as the peephole had promised – sans-fisheye – Libby’s Uncle, my best friend, Dalton.

  “Hoh-lee-shiat,” he says with a grin.

  Holy shit indeed.

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~ by Joseph Blame on November 7, 2010.

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