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August 8, 2003
Tonight while finishing my “vanilla bean” icecream, it re-occurred to me why I never hang out with my friend S. on weekends. Because his shameless, spoiled, antisemetic, married girlfriend is always there. It feels strange to be the only one not fooled in the room. Plus that accent: “Ah. Gabrrrrrriel ahl-vays ahhhhsks me to daahhhhnce. He does not aaahhhhsk yooou?” Bitch. I feel ill from biting my tongue. Well, partly because what are the chances, and partly because I believe in the truth: Piot, your wife, Renata, is blatantly cheating on you, and S., she’s probably cheating on you too.