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53 For the Potion hated it. whored myself out for it. shined the truth on it. vacated its premises when asked, but then busted windows in the complex. factory sealed it. crescent mooned it. slacked into its corners unmoored my dignity. made it gritty. so like a limp. and the interior. and the interior. and the interior. what a vacate. except for natasha, unslumbered and pissed. the fragments of a stage with cobwebs. I would fruition then leave it. I started you, didn’t I? ...

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