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7 thoughts on “ My Closed Mind - $wingin Utter$* - Dead Flowers, Bottles, Bluegrass And Bones ”

Dourisar
Susie has no illusions of continued life at this point. But, this sense of renewed life, of a moment of relief, is a powerful observation. He reached into the pocket of my parka and balled up the hat my mother had made me, smashing it into my mouth. The only sound I made after that was the weak.