He woke to see her leaning against the upholstered headboard, staring down into his face; from his vantage point it was like being in the valley of the boobs -- not an unpleasant place. He clawed his way up from the Espionage Dream where he’d been running across a rain blasted, cobbled street in some German city pre-World War II. “We should be married,” she said. Dream webs and the stun of reality threatened to strike him dumb. “I…I need to go to the bathroom.” “I knew you’d get upset,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear before he slammed the bathroom door and muttered “Crap!” He did what he had to do, washed his hands, opened the door: “OK. Let’s do it.”
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