When you're
living in the
future with no job to speak of and not much to do but watch tv with alien subtitles and answer
e-mails from your fellow alumni, shockingly enough there's plenty of time for things like preparing an anniversary dinner.
Not that he didn't know that traditionally one month was like the Kleenex Anniversary or something, but
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Bridge punches in the keycode to the apartment (okay, apartment might be too generous a word, but it's slightly bigger than the average Cadet quarters), bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as the door slides open.
"Hi," and then there's pouncing and the giving of the kind of hello that still involves mouths, but not so much words.
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