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Nineteen minutes later as he idled in traffic down by 1OAK, smugly tapping the mahogany steering wheel with the tips of his fingers, maybe it dawned on him.
He’d forgotten to ask my name.
I’d like to think the corners of his mouth would go slack.
Then when the light turned green, he’d let out a long sigh and his heavy car would surge through the intersection.
He’d approach the Marmont bend, and straighten in his seat. He'd smooth his phantom hair and glance at his reflection in the rear view mirror.
It’s fine, ***, I can see him telling himself.
If she isn't there, another one will be.