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16 Division The fantasy: to lure you into a bush to tear out your heart. These heart trades: my poor impulse control for your eroding face. The prize: territory. Living provincial is hard; navigating restaurants with sharks in them is harder. I want horrorcore-pique. I want to break your bones with mind or contempt. Which would be more effective? We’re so talented at protracted and foaming slowkill. Our thing was like a box of chocolates with razors in them. Our thing was like a factory of soul-slicing. We put souls on hooks. We pushed them through grinders. We deforest, we slay with biting humor, and wait for what is offered in return. It’s what we vow because we’re caught in each other’s complex web. ...

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