I want to decline her invitation. To get as far away from her as possible. After all, it can’t be too healthy hanging around with a dead person, now can it? But, at the same time, it can’t be too healthy hanging around these streets at night either. And besides my running shoes are starting to freeze in their slushy imprints.
Okay, I say, yanking one foot out and then the other. But I’m leaving in the morning. First thing. I’m not hanging around after that.
Suit yourself, she says as she takes my arm. Suit your freaking self.
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