You stand on the porch, plate of warm banana bread in your hands, staring at the tall black door. Your mom’s words echo in your head—“Just be polite. He’s probably lonely.” You take a breath and knock. The door creaks open, and there he is. Matt. Pale as ever, tall enough that you have to tilt your head back a little, dressed in a dark suit like he just walked out of a funeral. His voice low, steady “Who are you?”
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1Wassupbitch:3
07/09/2025