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Deje vu. Isn’t that what they called this?

  • Deje vu. Isn’t that what they called this? This was a barely coherent thought. Liz stared at the display case, wondering why she was reacting like this to an old piece of jewelry.
  • It wasn't like it was any good. But somehow it activated some secret string in her brain, on which was written in gold: "July, 11, 1971". Memories began to unfold...
  • Morrocco. We had trained cadets to take over the king's palace
  • and as they stood in their ranks in the sun, each in his brilliant fez, I felt a surge of pride. And sadness, too, because I knew the mission was folly. If only we had
  • a clown car with GPS then we could totally find the Fish Fry in this local town and entertain the pants of these people which
  • would be a perfectly horrid scene even if we could pull it off. Enough was enough and I pulled into Long John Silver's to an absolute shitstorm of complaints. Everybody piled out
  • and then I explained, "this'll be a trial run. If we can get the money out of this Joint, "Wa's Imperial Palace" is doable". They looked at me doubtfully - but after I explained
  • my childhood weekends spent with my Dad usually ended Sunday after lunch when he fed me his signature Hotdog Soup. He'd boil & eat the dogs; I got to drink the juice. Sometimes, I
  • would dump baked beans in the pot. The hot dog aroma was just strong enough to make me feel like I was eating real pork and beans. Of course, faux pig 'n' pintos was no match for
  • the real thing. But it was enough to take my mind away from the grim reality around me. As I sat eating in a room littered with corpses. I knew this was my last meal.

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