Walking around the City today is like walking around the inside of filthy dingy Snoopy Snow-Cone machine. The plastic sides of it long ago discolored to a sickly yellow-gray that does not wash off
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OK I think it's getting to a point where if you don't write a book based on memories of your child hood soon, then I will have to pay you to write one. Or at least collect them all together so I can read them one after the other. I mean I have that one Enworld link you gave me but I think I want just stories of you growing up all collected together.
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