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| I used to be a biggot. Now I'm a fabricated moth, fluttering around your dismal airways and leaving a festering trail of dust. Each and every time I spread my wings, you smell the dingey undertow of angst, turmoil, and sour tongues. It plagues, more and more, as the days drag on in haze. |
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| CIPHER |
| 17 |
| GIRLFRIEND |
| STUDENT |
| NEW YORK |
| BAIKAL |
| JOURNAL |
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