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May 16, 2006
Hahaha. Hahaha.

Ha.

He laughs, and every H and A hangs in the air between us, stagnant, unsure whether to waft around the room and disperse like real laughter or to just remain suspended, helpless, above our heads.

The Hs and As aren't stupid. They know they're part of a laughter string that's as fake as they come, and they wish they'd never gotten out of bed this morning to go to work. This is the kind of job they despise.

I laugh internally at his fake laughter. My Hs and As gather behind my lips, tickling them for freedom.