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Falla's Romanticism: A Short Story

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water was still at the back of my tongue and it was the longest five rolls ever to get off my King-sized bed. I stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the hot water; I asked myself, “Why didn’t I just go into the family’s restaurant business? I’d surely have a 9 to 5 job that doesn’t stress me.”
Then again, I loved the thrill journalism and reporting on crime was my passion. It was something my father thought was rather morbid. However, had he ever met my editor John, he would think that the fella’s romanticism with murders and its link to the supernatural, was a case of psychosis.
Pouring out my low fat cereal and almond milk, I began sending messages to my police contacts for information on where the body laid. Still a bit peeved, I drove
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