IICAN'T RECALL KILLING SISTER; CLAIMSI've got the bluesI've got the bluesI've got the alcohoholic bluesSOA I had barely poked my head into the masterbedroom at the south end of the house, and if Mrs. What? I don't know, I said. It wanders often.
Around nine o'clock, a pickup came down the driveway and parked behindmy Chevrolet. Tiny animatedlightning-bolts danced in it like defective sparkplugs. I guess the likes of me had better go out the basement door . The house was there, butmuch reduced: no north wing, no south wing, no second story.
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