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    2 months ago

    Lauren Conrad

    From Google Images, Lauren Conrad’s face rarely far from a smile.

    In the bedroom, straw-blonde hair straight, she holds my hand and escorts me from the bed on which Italia Ricci lays. Her face beaming with a comforting smile. She was not my favorite. In another place, she would have been a good suburban wife. Christian, tax-payer. Normal.

    But when I thought about it, her good-nature caught in this seedy room, I pulled her closer to me registering the sudden shock on her face—her mouth drawn in an open-o exclamation, eyebrows raised. I spun her around onto the bed where Italia was. Italia awakening from her dazed stupor lazily clasped Lauren’s angular jaw and hushed her thin lips with a finger. Italia then shifted her body weight from reclined repose to plant a kiss on Lauren’s face and then surfacing from mouth-to-mouth, her naked form crawled and straddled Lauren who was clothed in a summer dress that ran rectangle to her plank-board form. Leaving her to Italia, I walked away.