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That old man hippy, he just keeps blowing…
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Before you ask, we didn’t go in.
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Out back at the Muscle Inn, journalists wave their pasty faces at the gleaming sun and the smell of pork crackling drifts across bikers’ nostrils.
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Threatening Hippy With Bubble Machine. What more needs to be said?
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Ah, Santa Monica pier. I went looking for Vampires, my mind saturated with cultural referents, I found this.
{funambulism} 