” John’s father said, barely masking his pride as he showed Lucy into the small room where John had a several pieces of dismantled electronic equipment wired to each other and dozens of model planes on shelves across every wall. A common rage flushed their faces. Brendon and I returned from the ‘Unusual,’ and found him lying in my room shot through the lungs. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter.
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