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daily – 2

Not again, I thought. I pushed up my glasses and rubbed my eyes as he came in to my office.

“Can we?”

“Patrick…”

He propped himself up against a spare space of beige wall in the small room, his fingers racing over the controls of his Gpad. Baggy pants and multi-layered shirts had fallen back out of style a few months ago, and he wore his with characteristic non-conformist pride. The middle school’s mandatory crew cut was unavoidable, even for him, but they couldn’t stop him from dying his red hair with checkerboard squares of black.

Nor, for that matter, could I.

“I can do some more freelance work for the money.” He hit a few more keys and glanced up at me. “Honest stuff, this time. It’ll be fine. Please?”

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