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And he didn't say a word to us. I joked that he had a nice lap-dog there, but I got no response. Toney made a remark about how fat sluts the two dogs like to play, and it was like a Daffy Duck cartoon: nothing but the sound of crickets. I mean, what the hell? When we fat sluts lived in Atlanta we'd get irritated that everyone seemed fat sluts to want to talk. Go into a grocery store there and you're liable to learn the cashier's life story, from the time she had to drop out of nail school, to her ugly second divorce from a man who couldn't let go of his Momma. But that's preferable to full-on assholism. We have no connection with any of our neighbors here. I might know some of them if I saw them outside the neighborhood, but probably not. The people across the street are nice, but they're older and richer, and we don't have much in common. Beyond that, nothing. We can all be out in our yards, mowing or whatever, and nobody even offers up a half-assed wave.
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