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... asn’t mine.
Well, actually, maybe it was. Hard to tell when your throat feels like you’ve been gargling broken glass and your brain feels like it’s been put through a blender.
I bolted upright, gasping, and immediately regretted it as several fat rats scattered away from my body with indignant squeaks. One particularly brave bastard had been sitting on my chest, and it gave me a look that clearly said "rude" before waddling off to join its friends.
"What the fuck?" I croa ...
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