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| The butcher shop was cold and gray as through the glass pane door I stepped; past sides of beef I made my way to where the somniferous butcher slept. | |
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Somewhere in the coffee house, an eyebrow rises.
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| With gritted teeth, an iron will, and planted feet, I stood that night; the desktop bell rang loud and shrill as I slammed it with a heavy right. | |
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| He flinched and rang his register; my frame he curiously eyed. I said, "I want some steak, mister." And coldly, "Your papers," he replied. | |
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