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... different here—stale beer, piss, fried food from the 24-hour diner across the street. This was the edge of town, the kind of place neon signs didn’t quite brighten, no matter how hard they buzzed. The gas station sat a block ahead, its flickering lights glowing sickly yellow, the kind of glow that made you feel dirtier just for standing under it.
On the way there, I caught sight of movement in the narrow gap between two buildings. At first, I thought it was just a couple arguing. Then I ...
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