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We walked around slowly, smashed into each other, waded through stores and streets and sometimes people called out to us or asked us questions.Or we stopped them."Where can we get syringes? Our cat has diabetes," "Can we sit in your car for a minute?" and "Where's Brooklyn?"Two Mormon nuns let us into the back of their station wagon where we coaxed the most limber of our veins to rise and admit the sweet point of the needle.Sister Smith asked if we wanted to take her picture with Sister Mapplethorpe, and we said no."If you never cover one of my songs," he said, and embarrassed, I said, "I'm out of film," as we walked through chiffon-textured water towards the subway.But a bunch of strangers shot us on the subway, as I slithered onto his lap and shredded his neck with my new, razor-sharp incisors; as he moaned and vomited an arc of milk onto the black window behind us.
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