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"This is Marylin Monroe, and I NEED those red stillettos to perfect my dream. This turnip is more than enough to serve your needs, and I'm sure that Granny will buy you some new shoes with the money you saved from not buying a turnip."
I gasped, the greasy beef jerky film still clinging to my pallette, so this was the raspy voice I heard crooning "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" outside of my bedroom window. How long has he been following me? Does he only want the shoes, or will there always be something more, something that I don't dare, can't give...
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