You came into the kitchen that night with only a T-shirt and no underwear. I was sitting with a friend in the living room as you went by. I could hear you breathing. You went foraging in the pantry. You knocked the cans and other objects off the shelf. You found a cereal box, pulled it out, and held it wrong side down, leaving a trail as you walked from the kitchen. In the hallway you saw us. You saw my friend, and in your T-shirt and no underwear, you didn't stammer or apologize. There was no pause. But I remember your eyes as you passed.
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