Slip. Slide. Till you die. The man was a fan of a certain kind of hip hop. He was older than you would think. Some of his best memories were waiting for his mother to finish getting her haircut. The smell of burnt hair, and Sting on the radio. Maybe a pizza later, a square one. Lucky days were had to soon. Now he hangs at the bottom end of that parabola. A horseshoe crab or something else, turned upside down it looked sexy and alien.
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