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by Dave Hemmings


The person standing beside me is not my husband. In fact I have no husband. My arm is in his arm and we are standing close together smiling but I barely know this man. I have not known many men. Although this one apparently is a fine person I have no interest in knowing him further. His name is not important and mine isn't either, at least not to him, even though he may think so. I don't know what he's thinking at any given moment. He speaks a line and I speak a line and someone reacts and we react in turn. This is all for viewer entertainment and product promotion; in the end it's all for a fucking sale. They say everyone's a salesperson and it's true. I can sell anything given the right circumstance. Once this is over I'll get in my car and go home alone; this man in my arm will not follow. We will not go home together and fuck and find out later we're going to have a child. We simply will disengage. I don't consider us acquaintances; we will continue being strangers. I likely will never see him again unless I see him and myself on television selling what we sell, in hopes that the sales will increase and then everybody, everybody will be happy.




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