In the wayward, icy wind, blowing the city fumes in all directions, Miss Plenty tucked in the errant locks that had escaped from her wool cap and pulled it tightly over her ears. Warming her freezing hands, framed in fingerless gloves over the heat of the fire, she scrutinized Mr. Nothing. “I see a pensive look in your eyes. What’s up?”
“Sometimes, my thoughts drift to the past, but what’s done is done.”
“This is our reality. Your memories belong to a life that is no longer yours. Or one you left behind for your own reasons. No point in slipping back into something that’s gone.”
“I know. Still, acceptance or not being acceptable bugs me.”
“Acceptable, hmm,” she said, watching her warm breath turn into white vapour in the cold night air.
“I betcha,” she said, with a smile, “we can make a difference.”
“How so?” Mr. Nothing asked. “The…
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