The day the parade marches crisply down Broadway and pivots smartly onto Bolinas, with nary a twitch or tarry, will be the day it’s all over for Mayberry-on-Acid.
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I’m a rocker. Baby, I’m a rocker. And if I’m not a young rocker anymore, well, never you mind.
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I had plans. One was to get drunk. The other, to sit down at table 10 and live-blog what happens next.
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Kang leaned closer and, in a voice I won’t call a whisper because it was simply his voice, said, “I’m the only Asian here.”
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My shirt smells like smoke.
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i saw a man fall on the path today.
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This has nothing to do with the unfunny topic of peace, love and understanding.
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You can tell normalcy is making a comeback when the talk of the town turns to coyotes.
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Dave works graveyard at the burglar alarm company.
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Six thousand miles from our town of 7,000, Gleb Lisichkin packs a small bag. He doesn’t need much, beyond the occasional change of rock t-shirts.
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