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Tio brewed coffee in a bone-gray electric pot. As the water percolated he watched a brown cockroach make its way across the adobe wall. The insect moved slowly, its slender feelers twitched as it went. Tio looked down at the blue plastic box sectioned in
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Prayer: Cold prayers in her throat, so far all unanswered. This thing grows steadily, unmistakably, cobbling counterfeit cells and flesh together into an unspeakable mass.
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