I found these stories huddled under a blanket of dust. In the back of a cameon. (I don’t know what a cameon is. Just made it up.) They were shaking with fear. Don’t think they wanted to be found. They were written during a tumultuous time in my life. I had broken up with a long time live-in girl friend. These stories aren’t about her. But about the times after. The people I met. Lovers. Dopers. Thieves. Hookers. My aunt Eunice. Its exciting reading.
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