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September 7, 2012
Cleaning the fridge always was a sign of moving out. It was inevitably one of the last tasks, the day before, or the day of moving out. It was not exactly the way she wanted to spend this Friday night, but it needed to be done. Badly. And it kept her up and moving, rather than sitting. Looking at the collection of condiments, leftovers and assorted bits was an interesting portrait of her life, of the life built with himself. Yeast, slivered almonds, and dried orange peel: hers. Rosewater, maraschino cherries and hot sauces: his. Where did cigars come from?