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98 f r o m t e n t m a k i n g t h e s a i n t a n d s i n n e r b u l l s h i t A guy with a shaved head, whom I have seen often at the Globe, my go-for-a-few-beers (or more) bar late at night, caught me peeing in the mop sink. I had gone back and forth between the two locked bathrooms until some compromise was necessary. We laughed, even though he was who had to mop out the place after closing, but what is so funny is, the night after he found me tiptoeing up at the big sink, he was mopping with the very mop, while out of the local radio came the live culprit, reading mystical poems as though nothing of the sort. ...

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