The tutu wearing sack of sh-t has returned, Gaston-Berry Police staff psychiatrist Maury “Jiff” Monroe thinks, staring over from his cubicle at Gregg Oden passed out across three chairs against the west wall. He’s going to be sent up the creek a loooong time for this one.
Something’s different about him — it — though.
Of course: the hair.
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“(There’s) something about that police station,” speaks Billie Jean Kidd while studying former blog posts from her tower chair.
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“Who are you?”
Sunklands 