You're blocking the hot water from flowing to me.
[But I don't move. Frustratingly, neither does he. But I knew he wouldn't. That's his way.]
No I don't.
That doesn't change how the temperature feels.
[He smiles.]
You look like, "Yup, I just had a baby: Here's my belly and my wine in a disposable cup."
And what?
You can't be tired.
[I decide to stay in.]
You're leaving me alone to soak in your dirty bath water?
That's an oxymoron.
[And he proceeds.]
Regardless, this water is beige.
That's a pretty color.
(Reading this draft a week later, I'm confused, but these seem to be quotes from that night put on the page in a way that suggests I was going to expand upon them, like this was meant to be an outline for a broader idea; but I can't for the life of me remember or figure out what the end result of this was supposed to be so I have no choice but to publish it like this.)
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