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As it turns out, the object of your half-hearted affections does
need a friend. He or she gratefully bends your ear at length about sundry
personal problems and familial delimmas. Your long night of feigned
sympathy ends in a warm hug and exchanged phone numbers. Over the next
few months, you and your new friend develop a platonic relationship with a
faint erotic undertone, kept in check by his or her statements about
how "you're such a good friend," and "with
all these nights of exhausting passion with people I've only just
met, it's so nice to be able to have a friend to
describe them to in alarming detail." The sexual tension is eventually
broken by the cold embrace of death.
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