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Summary
It happens on the shore. In the surf.
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“Don’t want to push my luck.”
Harrington smiles a winning, beatific, smug prick of a smile. Leans in close and magnetizes Billy into his orbit, gives him a supersized dose of oxygen. Billy is Billy again and he tries to mirror the look. The pleased self-assuredness.
“Then let me push it for you,” he whispers and Billy is nodding, is gone, is fucked in the head.
