An envelope marked “Groceries”,
the kind of tiny miracle that he
couldn’t take away. Julia understood.
She’d been him before. Her bottom
was an empty bottle, a random stranger,
and a still wasted drive into work
the next morning. “Shoulda been
dead.” Her voice cracked when
confronted about the envelope.
“Just consider it restitution for
all the money I spent on booze.”

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