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Summary
Surrounding her, an almost tangible cloud: cold air, wine, the barest hint of perfume, a rich, stodgy, warm-food smell emanating from a steaming polystyrene tray full of-
“What the hell is that?”
“Supper,” she tells Carla, with all the drunken earnestness of a spiritual guru divulging the secret to life.
Or: Lisa's drunk and Carla tries something new.
(Username change: sapphicswarla → softswarla)