Sometimes, staring at himself in the mirror; skin, polar bear white. He thought if he stared long enough, he would be capable of withstanding time and its weathering effects. Some said he was a sad vulnerable man. He liked the scent of the hairbrush and it against his scalp and the time it filled. A stranger, late at night in a city he was not born in, a man of cocaine and misery and other frictions, pushed him in front of a metro. This was not in any way part of his future plans.
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"Classic"
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