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Costumed Girl Mistaken for Voter Fraud

There’s a town with a brain, now. No people live there. No purple sweating public branch of the affiliated stand on their toes to block more sun. No bandaged thought processes calling for more less more react with temper at the newspaper on the floor. It’s the traction of reaching out for fit pockets filled with urgent chewing that survives the debate. Every food is for the time. As they say in the voting vault, you pay what you get for. The town is a gravid pit for understanding how the gravid pit fills with gravid pits. In time, the folks will swear, a light of reasoning will spurt freshets cooling the hot brow of angry time. The human will then spot human with a verve and trust, till dinner time politely.

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