https://www.angelfire.com/art/letters/index.html
writegirl@altavista.com
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She tapped her fingers on the keyboard.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“No.” he said.“Definitely NO.”
So there she sat at the keyboard, out of the way, trying to write something interesting as he shouted at the Cubs game on teevee.
“You dumb ass. No wonder your wife fucked Ray Liotta.”
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“This would make sense if it was written in English.”
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“Need help now? I’m good at diagrams.”
“No. No. No.”
“Yes! Snocone! Hey girl! Watch this. I’m sure they’ll rerun it.”
The girl gazed over at the big screen. Snocone?
The man looked at the girl’s vacant face. “You don’t know what a snocone is? I’ve know that term since I was 9.”
She shook her head.
They glued eyes to the screen. “It’s beautiful.” he grinned.
He was putting together a build-it-yourself desk for her new computer. This man that knew all about computers but not as much about furnituremaking.
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“Now?”
“No.”
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“My fucking knees hurt. Maybe the Vicadin will kick in in the next 3 hours.”
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“I’m going down to the pier.”
“Good idea.”
Three hours later she returned all sweaty and tanned. The pretty desk was finished.
She thanked him.
He wouldn’t even let her shower first.