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Snaked, fiction by Morgan Boyd

We were gath­er­ing wood at an undis­closed loca­tion deep in the moun­tains when I heard a rat­tling in the pile. I dropped the wood in my arms, and drew my gun. “Don’t shoot,” Mur­ray said. “I’m not get­ting bit way the fuck … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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