She stood in an oversized sweatshirt, hanging slightly off her shoulders, sucking lightly on her finger, hair strands curled on her face. It was a wonder, to him, that anyone would ever want to wear his sweatshirt. He had seen women do it in the movies, he bought sweats in pure hope. It doesn't come in a tuxedo or a sports car, it isn't adorned with makeup or perfume, it isn't the money spent or the countries traveled. Because while those all may help a bit, nothing holds the power of a sweatshirt.
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