When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut.
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This video was uploaded to jiiney.com on 10-06-2024 09:40:58
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