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Fiction

Belshazzar

September 8, 2013 • 0
Stepping down into the bar Tagore‚Äôs, I found before him two small cups of port already poured. He wore red pants and a white tunic, bundled up inside a navy trench. His thin black tendril fingers seemed equipped with suction grip, the way he wrapped them around the glass and tucked the edge between his »
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