A tiny flame was seen from the butt of a cigarette lying in the ashtray beside him. The pack of Marlboro’s tucked tightly in his right jean pocket cringed softly as he adjusted in his seat. He looked down at his cigarette wondering if he should take one last puff or just take a swig of the jack that stood on the counter behind him. He didn’t know
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I think I love you, dear Trace.
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TRACE FOR PRESIDENT
*throws on her "Trace for president" shirt and dances off*
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