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They Know Better.


by Christopher J. Snyder


                   Fat Yasmin and Greg Lane were quite a couple.  They held hands a lot.  She was a mound of shit.
                   “She had to go to Egypt to marry someone who looks like Antonio Banderas[1]  at 22,” Greg Lane used to like to say, to people, while holding the hand of the “landslide” of shit, under her dress.  She blew out smoke.
                   He liked to caution Jamison about “slick Pavement.”  “Always be careful,” he said, leaning in, and getting a little aroused.  He pushed his glasses up on his nose.  “Always be careful . . . about slick Pavement.”
                   He calmed down.
                   He haunted the radio station for another year, because he's a goddamn bitch.  He couldn't get Andrea Laiacona, so he dated the landslide of shit.

                                                             THE END


[1] Nothing like a Barbie doll . . . or Ken, eh? — ed.
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