"So where does your girlfriend live?" I ask my co-worker on our way to lunch. The streets are noisy and full of traffic, cars sparkle with sunshine, and we squint in the glare and lean in to hear each other.
"Well," he says in his hesitant way, "I live with my parents, and she lives with me."
"I'm sorry," I say, "I can't hear very well, but I thought you said she lives at your parents?"
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