My throat was dry from all of my thoughtful and slow breathing, usually from my mouth despite the hazards that this presents. Its ok, I’ve gotten en...ugh done now that I can cut myself some slack, stretch out a little rest my eyes and fill my tummy. Besides, this book really isn’t about my painting career either, although that too is a big part of who I am. If my relationship with my mother explains why I’m nearly insane, my painting explains why I’m not. Sure, as an artist I’m a little loopy as. "Shovel that dirt in there." I told him and he did. Stamping down the clay when he finished."You raped a lot of girls?" I asked him after he put the shovel down."A few," he said, trying to look brave, puffing out his skinny chest."How many?" Didn't count." You done your last," I told him. "I want you to go back and find Tarleton and tell him that I am coming to get him, and when I do, I am going to feed him his ballocks, one at a time."The man nodded, wide-eyed. "Please," he said. "Don't." He. More

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