Van Gonzalez

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Lux looked up, but didn’t rise from the chair. Her sleepy eyes showed no surprise that we were there, but at the base of her white neck a lobstery blush spread. “About time,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you guys.” She took another drag. “We’ve got a car,” Tom Faheem continued. “Full tank. We’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
The Virgin Suicides
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