“They’ve gotta do something or we’ll be doomed for another decade.” I leave their sticky juice for him to rinse, and I drop the collected crumbs into the trash on my way to the bathroom to finish reading the sports section.
“Not his fault,” he calls to my back as I close the door.
“Nothing ever is,” I mutter as I turn on the fan light. Its overly loud growl mutes anything else he might say.
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