The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine. His tongue was hot. The rejection caught him like a slap in the face. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them.
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