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Even under the artificial light of the bookstore

  • Even under the artificial light of the bookstore her angelic glow radiated. I had to force myself not to stare at her as she repeatedly pulled books down from the shelf, carefully

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  • yet methodically. I started to walk out and thought, This is my chance! C'mon, just strike a conversation, you wimp! "Bet that job is a Neverending Story, eh?" Ugh. Idiot.

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  • But the anonymous, androgynous person whose identity I'd totally forgotten by that point turned to me and said "What a fascinatingly witty thing to say! I loved that movie!"

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  • I didn't answer because I then was distracted by the black mole on his (or her) chin. It was shaped like South America. I always wanted to go to South America, especially Brazil.

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  • The mole on my patient's face slowly drifted out of focus as I heard a steel drum softly play "The Girl from Ipanema." Two weeks of rest and relax... The nurse slapped my face.

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  • With her inner thigh. That might not mean much to you, but jeepers, the Nurse had like double thigh meat, so it really packed a wallop. Well, there I was was, seeing stars with gar

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  • issons, and glaring seas with stars. This habit is what led me to invent the celebrity game show, Staring with the Stars (TM) which involved interacting via twitter with celebs who

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  • had just been hit on the head with a large mallet held by someone off stage. The stunned celebs were usually unable to twitter, what with the birds twittering about their brows,

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  • The tweets that resulted were substantially less intelligible than those the previous day. Cheap labor was blamed for the loss of optimism among the stunned celebs. More suicides

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  • meant that at a certain point the density of the celebrity suicides would become such that none of them were discovered to be news worthy. When would that happen or if it had where

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