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Story No. 34147
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Another restless night, tossing and turning. I imagined writing a novel about "Erotica"; a woman I met
who insisted on being addressed as "your Madgesty" but who was really called Madonna. She opened the door and
out rushed the musty air that'd been confined for 4000 years. Peering inside,
into the darkness of the
night, I came upon a gypsy.
And went away a BCBG.
