Finished Folds (1021—1035)
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4would have spelled out "snake" had he not lost his right incisor. Instead it aptly stopped at "Snak". "Muhhhfuuhhh" he said before turning his hat, indicating he meant business. I
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6His ears were matted with bourbon and regret. Two band-aids were crossed over one eye leaving him winking at me with that silly laugh and terrifying erection. How pink could he
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3pitch fork and fashioned it into a makeshift banjo. When Timbaland wouldn't see me, I located Cher benath a motel six sign three blocks down. At least he looked like Cher, a tragic
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3a glowing door had opened in the floor. Steam was swirling from below, refracting the glow of red hot metal. The pain from their screams drilled into my head and hung there echoing
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2Soap bubbles popped in my ears while the draft drifting toward the oven fan drew smoke. The burning pesto crackled up my arm as I tried to turn back the fire to no avail.
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2eye for out of the way holes in the wall with amazing food just beneath the contempt of the health inspector. His smile was crooked, but his desire to suck the color off my tongue
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3I was instantly reminded of a pair of lavender shoes my parents had bought me as a child. As much as the tear of velcro, it was the general aroma of feet and disappointment.
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2the first & last sponsored Jello pudding wrestling match had taken place. The company had thought the pudding to be awarded a prize, but the chocolatey splatter masked their horror
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4Duraflame would later patent his ashes and propagate an intellectual property suit with Tanqueray and some hellish rail gin company that would make the Lacks line proud.
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1What was really free about it anyway though? She was there. Staring. Waiting for me to arrive again. Waiting to see which fresh waste I'd dragged in from night of who can remember.
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5It was a nineteen eighty-five buick LaSabre. It would have struck Timmy as ironic if anything could, but Timmy was a pink mist traveling ninety miles per hour, killed and conceived
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2lifted the bottle, dropped in a few amphetamines and started chipping away at my long term memory. By the morning, I couldn't remember my own name, or how I woke up with a
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4Abraca-fuck-you, you disappear. My foot slipped on something unfortunate and the tilt made my fingers and toes ache. Vertigo is a bitch, but falling down steps onto a corpse can
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6...Running on for days and reinventing the definitions of boring and endless in my mind- like so many rogue editors trampling my will to live. I noticed my feet still worked so I
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1had left me so sticky, so drunk and so confused. Still, there was more to be done naked than I cared to in that place, all red light & studded leather covering me with pyramids and