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“Let’s head in,” she suggested, opening the door to a large room that echoed like a mausoleum. Though it was brightly lit, one long shadow stretched along the tiled floor: the menacing penumbra of the mammogram machine. It loomed tall and wide, like a man hardened by years of bodybuilding, ready to crush and devour.
Shana Genre
John Werth
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That's some good writing right there.
Musician and conductor, repairer of woodwinds, owner of dogs, band director, lapsed mathematician, and scribbler of thoughts on humor, politics or both at once.
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