ngea shrubs in the botanical garden next to the Minneapolis Museum of Art, lyingbeside something bloody and still. And to finish things off, the day was fading toward dusk. On and on the eggman went, he thought, and then: I did it. He had never been part of an operation like this, he'd missed Haiti, but he knew how it was supposed to go.
Same time he lost his gun. The point is, they're losing. His name is Lad. Diarrhea came next.
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