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Birthday presents. Tokens of love, half-wrapped, the giver passed-out unconscious amid scizzors and ribbons and sticky tape, chin bloody from landing face-first in the clutter of glass candle jars scattered over chairs and tables and countertops and television sets, lit and sputtering.

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© 2002-2012 Mark Phillips. All rights reserved.
This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.