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#57
The smell of dew permeated my nostrils. This is not my bed. I sleep on a spring mattress in a run-down apartment in Chicago, not a bed of grass. The blades tickled my face and hair. I rolled onto my back, dazed and confused. Dark clouds brooded above | at their recent loss at the races. They had meant to spend that money on an engagement ring, but now they were caught in an Underbelly-style plot to overthrow the cashiers and get the money that they, as members of the working class, truly deserved. | Neither my parents nor my sexy fat dogs could do anything. | My sexy skinny dogs, on the other hand, were immensely helpful. With a snap of my fingers they formed a human pyramid -- amazing, considering their canine nature. From my pants pocket I removed a second pair of pants, and from the pocket of those I | removed the little finger of Tom Thumb. I chuckled heartily as my skinniest dog licked it's lips in anticipation. The only-fairy-tale-small-people fad diet was working.


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