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The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. She threw the bags of marijuana and a tiny bag of white powder he had in the sewer, unfortunately they were his only worldly possessions. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside.
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