look.
«Store thermometer still reads ninety-two. Ninety-two right on the nose.»
Foxe sat on a packing crate, making the least motion to hold an orange soda bottle in his fingers. «Cool off,» he said. «Yes, I need an orange pop very much, right now.»
They sat there in the furnace, looking up at one special tenement window for a long time, waiting, waiting…
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