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Gasps and shouts, a hand on my arm, sequined gowns and expensive colognes parting before me. And then, there, Raymond’s crumpled form on the hardwood floor of the foyer, like a sleeve torn from a jacket, the stitches frayed and useless.
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8803
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I sit in the dark, awake yet aware of another inner death. I breathe in the dark with a disinclination to the cold crimes of my mind. My skin senses the failure of evolutionary processes; a certain kind of abandonment. There is no iron cage of atone
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