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Fingers Around My Neck: Fiction --- Jason DeYoung | Numéro Cinq
This morning I woke up thinking about the future. Ol’ Tongueless was scrambling eggs. He had written me a note: ‘Not killing you. Leaving today. Please don’t be afraid to speak to me. Invited Pauline over for breakfast.’ He had beautiful, jaunty handwriting. Maybe I'd ask Tongueless to stay.