Mel remembers, through the haze of yuppified memories, thinking Michelangelo was a short, slightly deformed (how could she think that? That? About him) man with a pasty skin tone.
But she also remembers what she saw: that he was a turtle.
He turned back, and Mel has no idea whether or not he still loves her.
And yet... that was so much more important this morning. Now, it's merely a footnote.
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Mel remembers, through the haze of yuppified memories, thinking Michelangelo was a short, slightly deformed (how could she think that?
That? About
him) man with a pasty skin tone.
But she also remembers what she saw: that he was a turtle.
He turned back, and Mel has no idea whether or not he still loves her.
And yet... that was so much more important this morning. Now, it's merely a footnote.
She doesn't look round for him.
"Hey, Mikey."
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(The comment has been removed)
Mel's head drops down sharply, to look, and to discover that she is indeed wearing pants.
The blood is beginning to wash out now, brown trails spiraling down against the white.
"Yeah, guess I forgot."
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