[Because I somehow managed to misread every single instance of the number 43 as 47.]
He climbed into the shelter, relieved to see Erica was already there. As was Jasmine. It wasn't well built, it probably wouldn't save them. Erica held his hand. He said, “Let's get married.”
“Good idea. Jasmine can do it. She's a pope.”
“You're married,” the Discordian said.
“Good idea. Jasmine can do it. She's a pope.”
“You're married,” the Discordian said.
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No exaggeration; this is now one of my favourite short stories ever.
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