When you are leaving, they know. Something changes in your pores. The second you go to Manhattan Mini Storage to purchase boxes, your chemistry is different. The smell that pumps through the boroughs blasts out the last chance to dance signal. All the guys who never got that sucker punch in and all the girls who wanted to but never wanted to have to see you again start to line up. You find yourself walking down different streets. Avenue A becomes even more of a haunted house.

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