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I sit in my car, the driver’s seat reclined just enough that I can stare up through the windshield at the darkening sky. The neon glow of Milton’s Saloon flickers in my peripheral vision. I should go home. Sleep. Maybe eat something more substantial than beer (I’m really under my protein goal for the day).
But first, I need to see what I got. I’m actually surprised neither Clyde or Veronica brought up our rewards. In any case, I couldn’t wait any longer.
A soft, wet plop sou ...
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