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  • Tommy and I were sitting on a bed with lots of soft quilts in a cluttered room in the back. We were chicken fingers making fire bombs with mouthwash, some throat spray and a Bic while watching soap operas. Mine were small because I was afraid of setting Tommy's face on fire. Tommy was lowering his onto paper and I liked the smell as the paper turned brown and curled in. We were waiting for the Chicken Fingers of Love, Justice and Politics to get back from their road trip in the deserts of Arizona. I could see them in an old convertible cruising winding roads and sometimes I was in the car with them. I kept switching between Love and Politics, sometimes taking the wheel and sometimes refusing.
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