It was the time of bombings, the morning after the Emab blast..
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A man contemplates his altered road ahead.
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The Thing gorged on the barely formed fetuses of 1,400 future trends, Julian Assange’s soul, small and chewy as a California almond..
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A woman recognises an attractive stranger on the train to Bombay.
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A duet between Youth and Age.
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The light of a single red bulb in a makeshift warehouse bedroom with a record spinning like the circles of the underworld..
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