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Red-faced farmers. Unshaven factory workers. The bleary eyed husbands wishing they didn’t have to go home to their fat, bitchy wives. Was she in Oma...a? Kansas City? They blurred together, the places, the faces, like— Everything froze. Time ground to a halt. The music stopped. He was there, at the rail. Drunk and unshaven, leering at her, holding a dollar bill in his yellowed teeth. He didn’t recognize her. But, oh god, she knew him. *** Winter in north Texas was cold and miserable. Sharon. Music you're making is sure to..." I'll stop when the cops show up," Matt said. "That's a rule that's always worked for me in the past. Now tell me what you think of this riff. Too heavy? Or not heavy enough?"And with that, he ground out a crunching, multifaceted riff that reverterbrated throughout the floor above and below his.Emil didn't answer. He simply fled back to his bedroom, worried for his immigration status when the cops finally did arrive.Matt chuckled under his breath and continued. More

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