No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. ” It was sitting in her suitcase in the same pocket as the expired bus tickets.
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