<P>Enrique. The dark Enrique. Enrique had been drinking with Fred since the morning, and she clung to him like a drunk woman with a hair lip. For that is what she was.
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<P>Maria and Fred had fought over her when they were young men. Not to win her, for she had a hair lip, but rather to fight each other for the sake of the fighting and the winning. For in those days they were filled with the foolishness that clings to boys like sweat on a humid day.
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<P>In the end, Maria had won her, for Fred had often gotten their names confused, and a hot blooded woman like Enrique would not stand for it, hair lip or no.
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<P>They sat at the bar and motioned the barkeep to pour each a double and settled into their evening drinking poses, their ragged clothing touching. Fred showed them his knife which was 10cm long and shaped like the crescent moon they once shared over Turkey.
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<P>"I've news, Maria", he began.