FoldingStory is a group storytelling game.
Enter the fold.
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He dressed up as a monk and gave candy to street walkers, then changed his mind about the whole thing once the stock market collapsed and asked for his help. It was Sunday, 3 years -
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No probs. My questions as statements are: 1. You are doing this. 2. I am doing this. 3. Show me the way to San Jose. What this says about my folding brain is that I could with spic -
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the concrete under my prison slippers, snuggling under the thin cotton blanket on my lumpy mattress, and hearing my number at roll call. I would be home again. -
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trying to figure out how after all that work on her perm, she just ignored her nasty-ass nails. 'Why not get a manicure too, Ronna?' I wondered as the shouts of guards rounded the -
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heavy with feeling. "Ummm... I walked here tbh," I replied. So we set off together to my remote cabin, a 7 mile hike over rough ground. He started wheezing as my grocery cart skitt