The Painting of Porcupine City: A Novel Page 39
“Thanks. I’ll try not to melt my flesh off.”
“Hey, are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
“I could make pancakes?”
“That would be awesome, thank you.” He went into the bathroom and closed the door. I listened for the sound of the lock, wondering if he would turn it, and then it came. Tink.
I flipped through several glossy pages of the yearbook, but when I heard the shower turn on I closed it and set it on the arm of the chair. It felt cold in my hands, and not just because it had been outside.
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