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Fiction
Top voted Fiction
#51431voted by our readers
By Anonymous
[To the reflections that float above and underneath; calmly] It’s the mist around my eyes, the head is good. Being 87 is no child’s play and the wrinkles are no merit of honour....
[To the reflections that float above and underneath; calmly] It’s the mist around my eyes, the head is good. Being 87 is no child’s play and the wrinkles are no merit of honour....