"So all you want is a kiss?" I asked. A little voice in my head said I was heading for one of those slippery slopes. I told the little voice to shut up. "Well, maybe more than one. But basically, yeah."

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Hey,” the cabbie yelled. “How’s about a tip?” “You bet-ski,” Evie said, heading toward the old Victorian mansion, her long silk scarf trailing behind her. “Don’t kiss strange men in Penn Station.

— Libba Bray