“You don’t have to meet me inside the airport,” I said, as Danger Girl led me by the hand to the baggage claim area of the Albuquerque Sunport. “I’m not a ten-year-old.”
“I just didn’t want you to get lost.”
“Lost?” My attention was briefly diverted by a curvaceous Latina in some sort of slutty-jumpsuit made from translucent fabric. “This is, like, the fourth-smallest commercial airport in North America.”
“Lost,” DG clarified, following my glance to the young lady who was now obliviously bending over to fix her sandal, “like that.”
“Oh.”













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