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How about this, instead of thanking me, you just admit that it was the street. And by admit. . . I mean reconize the undeniable fact of something you actually witnessed.
I. . . It wasn't the street.
Dear Lord, why do I even try?
Batman #79.
( . . . ) This is our place, we make the rules. And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear. Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?
You know what that's like? Leaving someone because you love them?