A gaggle of us drove up to the top of the world at three this morning, in the insane half-reality of such an indefinable time. As befits the way we substitute innocence for bitterness, we substituted the sugar of a six-pack of cream soda for the expected beer, set up a blanket on the slope of Windy Hill (where, hooligans that we were, we were most
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I have a Garica Marquez story for you to read, about children playing with light.
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Glad you liked. Mwa!
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You might not find it printed many other places. I'll bring the book for you.
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