“I sent you an email,” Leah Malka announces. She’s one of those people who don’t trust that I read my emails.
“What’s up?” I prompt, grabbing two bunches of bananas. It’s the only solid food Rikki will touch.
“More like what’s down,” she sighs. “Business, that’s what.”
“Uh-oh, that’s bad.” Yogurt, I need yogurt.
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