Leftover Soup!
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It would appear that Trent is more uncomfortable with eleven than he was with zero.

Readers, if you have a moment, I have a fairly important announcement about the future of Leftover Soup.

Also, if you're at all interested, you've got until March 1st to submit to 2015's Sexy Self Comics Day.

(Wednesday evening, INT: MH's living room.)

MH (still clinging to TH): Fuck, fuck, Trent, I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
TH: Okay, Max, I know I wanted you to take this more seriously, but this right here is not better.
GU: I... I should probably go. My thing isn't important. I'm sorry.
TH (pushing MH away): No, Gina, it's okay. I... I shouldn't have used the R-word. It's like "Nazi", it's the tactical nuke of the English language, and it implies things that really don't one hundred percent apply to my situation.
TH: Seriously, I'm okay. Max, let go of me.
MH: I love you.
TH: I know. We can talk about it later. Let's talk about Gina now. Gina, what's your situation? You're feeling alone?
GU: I guess. I don't want to, y'know, take up Max's attention...
TH: Yeah, word to the wise: if she asks if you want eye contact, say "no".

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