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Marissa's Tea
When she walked othe cafe, marissa felt a strange sense of peace settle just underneath her breast bone. Underneath his tea shirt was a ripple of muscle that didn't like to announce itself. It was not jim obsessive muscle, but the understated strength of a man who could be counted on to push a car whose engine had given out. He asked marissa what she had liked to order, and then conveyed this desire to the waitress as if marissa might find it too much bother to do it herself. Her tea arrived in a glass pot on a wooden tray with a rectangular egg timer. The waitress turned the egg timer upside down. Inside the fine black sand started to trickle