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A man wakes. Looks out the window. Panamas, Trilbys, Trappers, and myriad knit caps drift by as people move through the frozen streets below. He runs a hand through his thinning hair. Once, he had a hat. He sits on his bed. Opens the nightstand drawer. Reaches in. There's no fabric to keep the gun barrel from touching his temple. No hat. Never again.
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Jun 23, 2015 04:15
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| # ¿ Apr 29, 2024 06:10 |
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