They unloaded Michelle’s sleeping parents who had been propped up in the back seat, necks craned against each other. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. It is not the woman who speaks there. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head.
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