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Pasta was his sole companion.
Friend, lover, everything.
"Do not call me antisocial," he said,
"For I am plenty social
with my pasta."
They went everywhere together,
on a loyal scooter named Bob.
Their favorite haunts were
a tiny pizza kitchen
and a Chinese restaurant,
usually out of business.
Bob would wait outside,
talking with the motorcycles,
while the couple went in.
Usually there was no one else around,
which suited them perfectly.
They were alone.
But happy.
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