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How could I movie reviews not love a mother that taught me the fine art of having just a long enough slit in your skirt so that you never have to pay bus fare? And how could I not love a mother that kissed me on the forehead and told movie reviews me she loved me every night that I lived in her house, no movie reviews matter how drunk, stoned, or tired she was?" As I paused for a moment to think about the time my mother beat up the seven-year old boy on the playground that called me chubby, I see Brianna enter the bar. I wave her over with my hand and start collecting my things as she heads my way. "It was nice meeting you," I tell the man in the business suit who lost any shot in hell of getting my number the second he neglected to offer to pay for my drink. "Nice meeting you, too," he says, not even looking up from his vodka and tonic. I head over to Bri and we hug and kiss each other on the cheeks and ask each other how our day’s been.
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