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I looked in the mirror. I think I’ll be okay out there. The walk to the tamale cart israel up the street takes but a few minutes. What I love most about the walk are the israel differing senses that are stimulated in such a short amount israel of time. The orange blossoms that pave my driveway. The trees that line my street. The litter that covers the sidewalk. The crime that wafts through the air. The murder that occurs within earshot. Fuck…Pasadena…the city that’s far away enough to be remote, but close enough to be convenient. As I approached the market that housed the tamale stand, I heard music reverberating from an overpopulated parking lot. People with empty looks on their faces, were gathered around a brightly colored radio station van. I saw balloons and kids who were happy to be alive. And then I saw him… That mother fucking Easter bastard bunny.
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