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Freestyle prose from Betty’s backseat. 

Days and nights bleed together, sleeping in parking lots, biding our time. Slaves to the dollar bill, rent-less, bill-less, house-less. Eating fast food dinners and breakfast in shrink wrapped packages. Taking pills to quell the acid burning in my heart and stomach. Where would I be without the drugs? Where would I be without those crutches holding me up, aiding my escape from reality? Songs from the seventies fill the van, barely audible over the strong breeze blowing in from the window. The boys are back in town, driving all the old men crazy. 

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