“So what is John up to today?” Lucy asked with a weary smile. She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers.
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