"I think I experienced your four-a-day," Katie says, standing in the kitchen. She is rinsing out a small plastic spray-bottle, overfilling it under the tap until the soapy water in it runs clear.
"I came out of the liquor store," she begins, "and there was this woman in front of me."
"Oh and she...," I interrupt, and then immediately stop myself, because I'm thinking of something that happened to me, and I need to listen to what she's saying here, in this moment, which might be totally different.
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