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S.P.Q.M.
"So Pops, Quicker Miles?", not Such Precious Qualified Mitts... I remembered the invitations, but I still have the feeling I’ve forgotten something: expectation breeds anxiety. I could already glimpse the illuminated profile of the child of Elah, hundreds of LEDs making his spoon plunge and rise again from the electric pudding; the summit of the silos was smaller. And Pops answered: "Relax, we’re almost there..."
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