“The man holding me had a pistol in his other hand; I saw it in the comer of my eye just before I felt its cold hardness crunch into my temple; pressed against my face, the pistol was hard in a way that seemed absolute, bone-smashing, beyond argument, and cold in a way that seemed perfect and permanent;”

Evan Dara, The Lost Scrapbook
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The Lost Scrapbook The Lost Scrapbook by Evan Dara
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