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Pasta
The scent of Italian food,
?finds its way,
?the aroma wafting into my window.?
Induced are images of the idealized,
large and boisterous family laughing around a table.?
The laughs distort, morphing into banshee-esque screams.
The meal is ravenously consumed.?
They must repent.?
All that remains is the pang of regret that comes along with being condemned to suffer a state of engorgement.?
The smell fades,? and I am
empty.
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