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The Mornings Are Hell
The mornings bring their misery and reassurance of my life’s decline, hollow the marrow of life, empty the cup of hope and filled the plate...
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Avoid distress; forlorn hope, threadbare of loneliness, even Icarus’ boldness, jubilation, and carelessness bedeviled his own ego. Tak...
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We always played cards in the back of Squire's Bar and Grill, a little hole in the wall place. I lost that night at cards a...
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Sitting in a death chair at the Cleveland Cancer Center whilst my body is being pumped with platinum grade-A poison. The six hours of...
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