He finished his story to laughter, and shining faces. It was as if I could suddenly touch them, as if my hand shot through Malcolm's palm, through him, and into their bodies. I shook my head. Me in the middle, but when Jean-Claude's head touched Richard's arm, neither of them moved away.
The act doesn't change, he whispered, just who's on stage. His mouth was suddenly on mine, his tongue pushing between my lips. He doesn't see it that way. His hair as yellow as the light itself, his eyes like the sky beyond the window.
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