The Clouds that Danced like Thinking Snakes A Short Story by John Doe Matt Barlow had always loved deserted San Francisco with its tart, talented trees. It was a place where he felt unstable. He was a stingy, hopeful, cocoa drinker with moist thighs and curvy lips. His friends saw him as a bad, broad brute. Once, he had even rescued a wrong injured bird from a burning building. That's the sort of man he was.
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