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Three Years Later
It’s been three years, you see; three years since that fateful Saturday afternoon in March...
And Friend ‘B’ turns to me, leans so close to the table she’s practically snogging it, and whispers, “Rose, your boyfriend is staring again.”
At eleven thirty-five, on a whim, I cross the cobblestone path and pay a generous sum of money to a man for a bundle of daisies. I hope Rose likes them.
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