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Literary abuse turns to physical abuse. More at eleven.
So the next time I wander into the library, check out books, walk to belly dancing and then walk home? Shoot me.
That's a long fucking way with a heavy backpack. Next week, I'm only stuffing the scarf and zils in the pack. No books. And tomorrow, paper, pens, and nothing else.
That's a long fucking way with a heavy backpack. Next week, I'm only stuffing the scarf and zils in the pack. No books. And tomorrow, paper, pens, and nothing else.