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Good Boy - (3) Roll Over

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“You can take yourself shopping” I grumbled to myself as I lugged Mike’s heavy case from the back of my car.

“Driving my car. Talking to me like a kid. Shutting me up. Taking my keys” I continued as I shut the boot, dragging the case along to the door, propping it open with my foot.

“Making me carry his cases in like his concierge.” I groaned dragging the case up the stairs “How’ve you been Doug? Work okay? How’s the cat? Oh good. Very good. Thanks Mike”

Apparently I talk to myself when I’m pissed. Which I was. Extremely. How dare he? I spent eight weeks worrying about him, missing him. What do I get in return? A post-pubescent teenager who thinks he owns my ass because he’s grown a couple of inches taller than me.

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