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She killed a man who was squatting outside of a freezing brick shanty on the southern edge of Chicago as he waited for his dealer. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. It would hurt no one. ‘Parbleu, the house, is it broken in the least? I do not think so.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 12:21:14