Love in the Cirque Mechanique

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She rode the Mechadonts and I charged the machines before the show, but we watched each other in the mess tent at night and languished for opportunities. We lost entire nights in the darkened booths after the crowds departed, tufts of cotton candy clinging to lips and fingertips, whispering confessions and laughter in the flicker of the cheap holograms. “I’m going to marry you,” I told her. And I believed it.

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