We decided to have a picnic with tea, jam and unresolved resentment. Excuses were common enough, like the ants crawling nearby the quilted blanket. He curled his middle fingers in anticipation to flick an unsuspecting guest, but there were too many. As he rid of one ant, another hopeful successor would arrive.
We should have moved but we couldn't. We were stuck in this in between, the other unwilling to give.
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