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Vices
Don Schanke watched Nat examine the body of a girl, barely twenty. Poor kid, she couldn't even get her final words right, judging by the scratched-out messages in the notebook she'd left behind. All this over a boy, who probably didn't give a damn, anyway.
He sniffed above the Betty Boop coffee cup. Smelled like vodka. Pink lipstick dotted the rim.
His daughter, Jenny, liked to wear lipstick, though her mother wouldn't allow her to wear it to school yet. Jenny liked 'Passion Pink.'
He fingered the Zippo lighter he still carried in his pocket and wished he'd never quit.
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Cousin Shelley
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