Warren
Did I call him? Why no. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Wounded weak Warren. If you ask me, he always used me for a crutch. Never able to woo, poor Warren. I had to do it all in our brief courtship—pay for the pants, iron them, wear them. And often I slept in them—barren Warren. Woe, woeful Warren. A child. Meek in tone. Never quite pronounced the “in” in independent.
How did I do it? Well, by text message of course!




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