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Two Coffees

He dropped himself on the couch, still swearing black and blue. They could go to hell, the coffee machine and the fan. He was so pissed, he didn’t bother to check if his phone had any thread of coverage. As if.

He’d downloaded his emails at the airport, so he thought he could kill some time reading them. He brought his legs up to the couch and turned his back to the waiting room and the rest of the frigging universe.

The third email made him smile. It was from the head of the LA Squad. As usual, she wanted to know when they would be back home, so she could put up a signing with the local soldiers. She was a funny mental case that followed them since before their first album, and she never abused her privilege of direct communication with him.

Even though he wouldn’t be able to send his reply unless he found a way back to civilization, he started typing it. Until something blocked the light. He glanced up to find the fan standing right in front of him, handing out a steamy paper cup to
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