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something about sandy
I'd wandered above Rochester aimously clinging to the soundless panting I'd become to know fashioned with empty promises spoken in rough French tongue I'd gestured God's wrath I suppose as port au prince came into view a single mirage wrapping itself about quiet times of lost broken wings floating about the coast while ships roared across the sea as my minds eye focused on her liberty's abode just up the shore the scent of Thanksgiving sang the sound of home chimes rang out as statton island vaguely remembered my infamous pout
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