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You pick up, lean against the counter. The clock on your wall says it’s 8 pm. You scrub your face with your hands.
“Hey, Nancy,” you get out. You know it’s her on the other end of the phone because it’s always her. You’re a little taken aback by how tired you sound.
“Hi,” she responds, her voice grounding you through the crackle of the phone line. She asks you if you’ve eaten today and you tell her you don’t know.
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