He sits still and lets her straighten -- not that either of them should be coordinating anything more complex than this -- with his attention resting comfortably on the pale-lit curves of her face. His fists sit like stones at the bottoms of his pockets.
"This is New York," he replies. "You want heat, you go to Arizona. Of course, if you want scorpions hiding in your shoes, you also go to Arizona."
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"This is New York," he replies. "You want heat, you go to Arizona. Of course, if you want scorpions hiding in your shoes, you also go to Arizona."