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The Child by the Dying Mother
I was like, it's not going to kill her, you know. Her lips clamped down on that little fluff vodka like her life depended on it. It all came back. She said I had a beautiful smile. No one ever told me that. The thing is she was not there for such a long time. But my mom would do things like heat soup up on the open flame, but in the ceramic bowl. So she actually knew what she was doing. Yeah. Always, always fuck the middle man.