The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the dirt wetter, which is to say it makes it more honest.
The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the dirt wetter, which is to say it makes it more honest. I was at my desk, typing the last line of a letter I didn't want to send, when the door opened. The bell above it made a sound like someone clearing their throat—nervous, apologetic, like it knew it was interrupting something important. He stood in the doorway with water...
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