![]() Then he left and took eighteen months of memories with him into the dusty Las Vegas night. I said nothing because I didn't want to prove his point. "It's not you, Trevor, it's me," he began, right before telling me how I made everything about myself and he just couldn't take it. My finger grazed the remote's mute button, but I kept the volume on, hoping the panelists' words would eclipse Mark's. There was a program playing, some roundtable discussion where the panelists debated the ideologies of Buddhism. The second came in the hushed form of those infamous four words: "We need to talk." ![]() He didn't sit, which was the first red flag. Last month my boyfriend, Mark, came into the living room while I was watching TV. Of course, it also helps that Oreo can talk now. ![]() Trust me: If you want a reliable means of collusion in a game of Texas hold 'em, British Shorthairs are the way to go. Don't let those old Coolidge paintings fool you dogs really don't know what the hell they're doing once you sit them on that rickety ladder back chair, and their paws just aren't made for holding the cards steady. My cat, Oreo, is the best poker partner I've ever had.
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