Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. You are—horrible. I want to make my own selection. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. "Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans.
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