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Fiction 8.3

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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 So early in a warm motel hallway. The drone of hidden coffee machines coming to...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 Once again Fritz had been arrested, this time at Pinsplitters, the bowling alley. He had...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 Leon told Fritz about Match.com at the Labor Day picnic at the Linger Longer Over...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 That summer, Weldon Springs, Missouri, was so hot that John Barry’s three oldest children spent...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 Some time ago, I had my nose broken by a gang of Japanese teenagers. It...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 Dust rose so thick around the car as they plodded down the dry dirt road,...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 X Factor was on the last time it happened. “It rapes carpets. Nice pedal,” said...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 Most of the bank was spotted with bulrush, while the shallows were covered with thick...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 Paul was flying, weightless and limp like a ragdoll or maybe just a rag, a...
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Fiction, Vol. 8.3, Sept. 2014 I got the idea for the Molotov cocktail during American History class. We were studying...