One night Tristian shows up at his cousin's apartment unexpectedly, wanting to talk. Will he tell her of the things he's seen? Will he remain completely withdrawn? Will things explode? Will I write something that makes a lick of sense? Marvel at how I take yet another charmingly simple story in the hands of another writer and drag it once again into the quicksand of my ego. Will anyone care? If past experience is a judge, you bet your sweet bippy the answer is no. Ha!
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