” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. “Well, you’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room, but did I show you the basement?” He asked. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits.
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