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15 Shakedown in the Sugar Shine , & l pasted on fenders. Wings in the blades of windshield wipers. The Suburban, so adorned, sweats as a carriage of kings. Bees swarm the staves itching to eat off chrome, itching to glean the hood. Dust off the pollen, the infinitesimals, trick out the rig in woofers boom boom —that’s enough, that’s enough. Ditch the honey truck; wipe down the music. ...

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