Jesse Bare

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The gambler’s view was obscured by a blanket of steam that was blown east by a strong western wind. For a moment, both sides of the car were aglow with roiling bright white exhaust. “It’s like we’re flying up in the clouds,” observed Godfrey. “Enjoy the view. I’m pretty sure we don’t have angels making beds for us in heaven.” “You like jokes.” “That wasn’t one.”
A Congregation of Jackals
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