Back on the beach in the far-flung Southeast, Tony Route and I hauled our gear into a USDA Forest Service cabin set in a bench of hemlocks over a remote salt chuck (a sort of brackish lake, connected to the sea by a channel that floods […] ) […] .
The car is in my possession.
Standing still in the middle of the close, I watched how his steel-toecapped boots crashed into the tarmac, one step after another, and how they came to a stop.
You gluttonous pig! Now that you've eaten all the cupcakes, there will be none for the party!
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