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Chapter Five

"ZOYA WOULDN'T LIKE THIS SIDE OF YOU." I approached Ryan while crossing my arms. Reminding myself not to fly into a rage because going ballistic immediately brings a short-lived relief and impetuosity ensures no regrets. 

The gentle autumnal breezes are drying my sweaty face. My body is heated under my panda onesie from speeding up to where Ryan stands. October winds are muted by his loud car stereo which is playing his Saxophone Jazz classics. Don't Blame Me by Charlie Parker. The crazy volume is breaking the usual silence of the neighborhood, making it impossible anymore to catch the barks of our neighbor's Dachshunds and his microwave ringtone.

He gives me a side look, puffing heavily on his cigarette. "Excuse me?" The smokes are billowing his face. They are flowing from his mouth like they are curling up from a chimney or a

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