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“Michael Connelly loves the place,” Emmet went on. “Says the martinis are the best.” “Who’s Michael Connelly?”
Cable was a ceaseless conga line of carnage in third-grade classrooms, huge turnouts for gangster politicians, immortal viruses, the extinction of oxygen, CEOs screwing anything mammalian, plastic bags suffocating sea turtles and women beheaded for driving to the mall.
