He looks at me, the circle, then me again. “It’s really you, right? I didn’t create some simulacrum that was inhabited by a demon? Prove it’s you. Say something only Spencer would say.”“Like what?”“Say something annoying.”I think about it. “Well, you claim to be British, there’s really only one thing I can think of.”“That being?”I lean in close, my lips gently brushing his ear. “Soccer.”He shoves me away. “Fuck. You. It’s foot… Yeah, it’s you.
-Vaughn R. Demont
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