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Junkyard

“Okay, beauty isn’t in everything,” he had this look on his face that was so difficult to describe, almost like he was surprised but completely expected it. “But what does that have to do with you?”

“It doesn’t,” I looked out of the windshield, rain spots were still on it. He hadn’t washed it in awhile, “But if there was beauty in everything, then we wouldn’t be able to see it because there wouldn’t be any ugly to compare it to.”

“Can I show you something?”

“Sure,” and with that he started the engine.

Fifteen minutes later we pulled up to a junkyard, “Here we are.”

“You want to show me a junkyard?”

“Correction. I want to show you what is inside of a junkyard,” he unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door, “Come on.” I got out of the car in the same fashion he did and we walked up to the fence, “Ready to break and enter?”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. We got to break some more of your boundaries tonight,” he leaned on his knee and placed his hands together on top of it, “Climb up.”

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