Fiction 103

“You smell nice. Like ice-cream.” he almost pouts. “How do you do that?”

“It’s my new shampoo. Strawberry something. Nice, no?”

“I used to hate the smell of ice-cream, when I was little, especially the after-smell of ice-cream on my hands.”

“And you say you’re not OCD about cleanliness! Hah!” she laughs.

“What has this got to do with my supposed OCD?”

“Well, a child is not supposed to be worried about stickiness of ice-cream. That is the point of a childhood. Ice-cream.

“I am particular about the way my things are kept.  And how they’re treated. There’s nothing wrong in that.”

“Absolutely not. That’s what Hitler told himself too, you know.”

“Only you.” he laughs.

“Only I, what?”

“Only you can make me fight without even knowing why we’re fighting in the first place!” he says, nodding his head in exasperation.





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