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Seven months!

I can see it the last rays of the setting Sun paint the walls a burnt orange, he sits alone in his den, the fourth martini almost gone, and a single tear slowly making the journey from the corner of his weathered eyelid, across a wrinkled skin that speaks of age and experiences, to the edge of his god-knows-where-it's-been mouth.

"Memmmmmories, light the CORNNNNers of my minnnnnddddd
Misty water-colored memmmmmories of the way we WERRRRRRRRRRRE"


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