Read By RodKelly

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they’d be on patrol and he’d be too far ahead of the others in a line of guys in the jungle, he’d be in front and he’d step on something that would just rip the veins right out of him, splash him around like paint—before the noise hit his ears, his ears would be shredded—you just, probably, hear the tiniest beginning of a little hiss.
Tree of Smoke
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