By Lynette Mejía
May 2, 2018 · 869 words · 4 minutes

Photo by Artur Tumasjan via Unsplash.

The magician wobbled a little on his bar stool.

“Ask me what I did for a living,” he said. Somewhere deep inside of him a small voice was shouting to shut up, that he sounded like a fool, but he ignored it. His plane was likely delayed until morning, anyhow.

“I already know what you are,” she answered. Her pale skin seemed to shimmer a little in the murky atmosphere of the bar. He liked the way the dim light played on her features, rendering half of her in shadow.

“And what is that?” His...

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