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Antonio and Zeca met on the black and white pavement by Ipanema beach, a few days before Christmas. Zeca had flown in from London that morning. He came back regularly to Rio de Janeiro, often with his wife and kids, but he hadn’t experienced a Carioca sum
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Maybe in a world like that lying could kill you. It was a realization that made me colder than any wind blasting down Main and shaking the trees, because, unlike my brother, I lied all the time.
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The coyotes howled and yipped and barked, and Max thought he could make out individual voices—five or seven of them, maybe more. He kept his eyes on the woods east of the lake, looking for them, for movement. In the moonlight the leafless trees—Sid Miller
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When Chuck dies, I’ll throw/
a party and dance, a little drunk,/
across what I’ll pretend/
is the old shit’s grave.
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Maybe the thing is over by now. They have gathered up all the pictures and mementos of our dad’s life and hauled them away.
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The young boy woke to the sound of laughter. He blinked himself out of deep sleep and allowed…
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