#37440 - “Yeah,” she panted. I poked at it noncommittally with the tiny plastic fork, moving the shriveled peas to one side, then to the other, then mixing them in with the sludge that was trying its best to be mashed potatoes. Magda was on her back on a cozy looking little bed with her arms wrapped around him as he slowly moved atop of her.
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I trying to figure out the same thing