Eat, Pray, Love and

Jack says, “You’re not Elizabeth Gilbert. You don’t look like Julia Roberts. Even if I squint your lips aren’t full like hers or lipsticked and the last time you took a soul-searching trip it wasn’t to any place exotic and I think if I asked you who Pretty Woman is you wouldn’t know, if I asked you about Richard.” Jack pauses, his mouth open baring his British bottom teeth, the colour of walls here – magnolia – then says, “Gere,” like it’s taught in school or something.



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