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I was just sort of poking at it idly, bored, hungry for cats, lonely even though I had Sixty Watt’s poor conversation skills to look forward to, anxious as a hot bee about all that marriage talk back in Winditch, but hey, at least I was headed somewhere new. Into the future, a future that held much less pink-scented wax than my past, so that was something.
The Past Is Red
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