And another day begins in this horrible environment created by mediocre
decisions and suffocating fear. It has been exactly ninety-three days since she
came home from the club and melted away within the arms of her other lover. The
scene still plays as a continuous loop in your mind: you waited outside her
apartment until three in the morning, her bitch roommate having thrown you out
around midnight. Enveloped in the bitter frost for three hours you had made the
decision to walk across the street to your own home when a beat-up Regal came
to a stuttering stop before you. He exited the car and walked over to the
passenger side, murmuring a "hey, slick" in your general direction (the
bastard) before opening her door (the pissing shitwank). She hadn't noticed you
when she drew herself from the automobile. Your eyes instantly gravitated
toward the four-inch heels she had on, she had completely refused to ever wear
for a night out in the two and a half years you had been together. She kissed
him warmly, somehow taking the weather with her, removing the gales of wind
momentarily. After forever, they separated and she gave him the same 'fuck-me'
smile she used to use on you. He went back to his rotting hulk of decadent
machinery (opportunistic jackass) and sped off into the night. As she watched
him peel off she noticed you for the first time. "Hi," she said, plainly. "I
found somebody else. Can I have my key back?"
That's how Indihar got herself the hell out of your life.
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