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I hate my job.
He eyes the cheeseburger suspiciously, probably trying to gauge the likelihood that I spit in his meal. Which I did not, because as stated previously, he isn’t worth my spit.
I hate my flat.
“Deal. I’ll even throw in a cheeseburger, too.”
I hate my life.
“I had a –”
I hate the rain.
My eyes lock on to the glass storefront as I scrub away, and in its reflection I see the table I’m wiping down and Louis standing back near the counter, eating - what else - a cheeseburger.
I like my job.
“Thanks, Matty,” I say, pulling the box towards me. The aroma of a juicy cheeseburger wafts out and spirals around my bedroom, fighting off the smell of the stale junk food I’ve been munching on all day long.
I like my flat.
Maybe I should eat a cheeseburger.
I like my life.
“Don’t kid with me, Ava. There’s no such thing as a cheeseburger factory.”
I like the rain.
"Well, if you would just make me a cheeseburger we wouldn’t have this little problem."
I love my job.
I think - well, I think for the first time, we’re both being completely honest with each other. No sarcastic quips or vicious jabs or silly jokes about how he can’t live without the diner’s cheeseburgers.
I love my flat.
“Did she make you bad cheeseburgers?” I somehow manage to slur. “Is that why you’re so bitter?"
I love my life.
I love the rain.
I just want to take everything back, forget every second that I’ve known him. Erase the moment he walked into my life, sat down, and ordered himself a cheeseburger.
[after the rain]
I'm all in.
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