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"Good afternoon," she paused. "...John, right? Did Tracy send you over?" she inquired, not knowing why the neigherbor's 17 year-old son was suddenly interested in speaking to a middle-aged woman that he had hardly ever spoken to before at Tracy's house parties. She wiped her forehead with her slightly chubby arms putting down her garden shears, and pushed forward her hips with her palms in an attempt to stretch out it her lower back after weeding her flowerbed.
"Um, no actually," You awkwardly stood there, wracked his brain trying to think of how he would get Mrs. Folgers to drink from the bowl. You sweat a little, wishing you had come up with a plan.
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