Thats sweet. Nice of you. Johnson put his hands in his pockets. Dove couldnt help but wonder if he was massaging a sore bag of testicles. Dove looked around, and Johnson shuffled his feet. It seemed neither knew what to say, but she hoped neither wanted to part ways either. Johnsons default was always medical. Hows your infection? Die. Die. Kill me. Its cleared up nicely. Dove twisted her hand into her hair.

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About Debra Anastasia

Debra Anastasia.

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