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"His head fell in my mouth." said Josh innocently. Sara screams, smashes
open the store's door and runs off into the night. She passes a bashed-in
wall of corn, a dead giant rabbit, a tub full of cocaine, a self-moving
grocery cart and a box in a dried gully. Then, because the author is tired
of writing scenery, she goes insane for ten minutes. When she comes 'to',
she is inside a well lit, mostly-glass phone booth. The purple seat inside
is nice and clean. The phone book, hanging below the machinery, is
sparkling new. Sara finds about five dollars worth of quarters in her
pocket. A small sign attacked to the door indicates that this is phone booth is inspected every day at noon (which was eleven hours away) by the Philberton Historical Society. The reasons -why- is lost to a spay of graffiti indicating that the author is a sexual powerhouse with the men. Sara sighs. What now?
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8/29/2008 2:25:16 PM
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