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everything is going to

be cooked, the peppers will go limp and

the sugars will come out, stinging your

guts, poking at your dreams.  You’ll be able

to work for a living and love

the man that you’ve been repeating

pithy frases to.  the light bathes your sandwiches,

the flames shine on your

hair.  no, it won’t be cooked, you’ll

need to fall.

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