"No, you don't."
"And anyWHOooo," the clone started to say before someone ripped the charging cord out of the outlet. "It looks peaceful when you do that." It did look at rest.
"It took us four or five days to get there," a grimey, bloodied, staunch finger pointed sternly at a hand-drawn so good people had kept it for generations. Another hand held up the hand. "I'm on my monthly."
"So am I," a man's voice entered the room before he did bodily. "And we've no beans left." He scrubbed at his shock of hair with a handtowel and olive oil.
"And did anyone have anything to tell you?" Yet another woman asked.
There'd been no formal interviews. No proper toiletry. Only a crossroads between arid tundra of places with some ghetti trees.
"The nurse asked about the photographs."
"Which ones? Let me see them."
"I've left them. For Cairo. And London if I'd had two sets matching. That's the issooo down here. I can't find two of anything the same."
The trunks had been opened while the small plane operator had been aloof on a day jaunt. And though the people from another Continent were mostly piecing memory together with instance, stuff was missing.
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