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Take a picture, it'll last longer Will rubbed the cracked surface of the once-shiny photo. Sydney now smelled of the cigar box he kept her in. He squinted, picking out memories of another life – the twin bed they had napped on uncomfortably, his heavily underlined copy of Being and Nothingness on the dresser, long hair spilling over her shoulders. Sydney’s smile tickled his memory. She had brought the camera so that she could snap his picture and carry it with her, but he had turned the tables, wrestling with her, stealing the camera instead of a kiss. Will had regrets, but that wasn’t one of them.
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