Jericho holds his head beneath the faucet, shaking out the tepid water that percolates through his mop of maroon hair. The formerly white sink is rimmed with red like an underslept eye and his henley, the worn ivory of porcelain veneers, is pocked with smudges of fuchsia dye. He turns the spigot and pestles his hair with a towel, looking at me
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