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The New Yorker
Masters of Fine Arts: The Novel“I said nice wrists.” It was that kind of day. Pete studied the wrists in ques
Masters of Fine Arts: The Novel
The New Yorker / Posted 6 days ago
“I said nice wrists.” It was that kind of day. Pete studied the wrists in question. They weren’t half bad. He had never given them much thought. Just then, Bobby strode across the lawn. Hanging from his body was a strap-on counter he’d fashioned,... Read more

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