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80 38. Manholes Your quaquaversal outlook is a must being up, down, all around the sewer, which always wins. Near-dawn cold getting colder, steam escaping from tooth-short mouths, your headlight descending gallantly, rung by rung, bedeviled by consequences of black water thickening in the intestines of the city. Soonest, you will wade in isolation and spontaneity, solitary as a spider. ...

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