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Saturday, February 2, 2008
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Misery Loves Company
That Thing in My Mirror...Pathetic.
Mr. Bennington luncheons in Florence. It was either very late or very early, and he was already quite drunk. On that day, thick with the first frosts of the year, a pungent blast of winter across the Arno caused many to remark how the city smelled of stale ass.
Greener Grasses
Whatever It Is, Don"t Touch It.
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