Allan Malcolmson

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For the first time, I looked up at him. The teeth grew concentrically outward; bicuspids, incisors, canines, molars, around and around and around. There was a tough pink line of tissue that encompassed the point of contact between his dentition and skull. No hair grew past that line, though he had a full head of dark hair. No teeth grew farther than that boundary.
We Are Here to Hurt Each Other
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