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Canada Day, early afternoon.

She sits on the edge of her mattress and tries to get started on peeling an orange. I notice two small bruises, fresh and sexy, on her upper arm.

The orange peel remains intact under the pressure of her fingernails.

"I've almost made a dent in it," she says.

I take the orange from her and sink my front teeth into the skin. Then I hand it back.

"You're welcome," I say.

"That must have been very satisfying for you," she says.

"Yes, it was."