July 4, 2003

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"If music is the food of love," Crowley said, thumping the car stereo, "love must look an awful lot like Freddie Mercury."

"Dead and mustachioed?"

"They say you are what you eat."

"I don't think it's meant that literally."

"Not meaning things that literally causes less trouble," Crowley agreed. "Most of the time. If you were love, I suppose you would gorge on Bach until you couldn't walk."

Aziraphale frowned. "That sounds unsavory." He touched the stereo, and it began to play the Goldberg Variations. "Though I suppose I am technically an expression of God's love."

"See?" Crowley said. "Glutton."

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