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32 Hungry. Sorry. There’s the beguiling mouth of the monkey crowd, in a corner with long legs wrapped around the tail end of a bar; that little gibbon grin, those glib lemur lies. Spinning tales about allegiance & consumption, he’s addressed the room at large; studied it, digested it, & now he wants to meet her. When they go home the bed only tells as much as it knows; he knows just that her head is hard, when she sleeps her hair never moves. ...

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