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Marceline Lives Here.

Marceline Lives Here.


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Daeunce

Daeunce


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At the end of a road leading from an agricultural industrial park spewing the smell of feces and death over the entire neighborhood is where my ancestors lay to rest, buried generations ago my kin is untold in the Sacred Heart cemetary. The original Belgian families have aged and died long ago, and with that the memories of the dead evaporate in the bright sunset where children run across their graves in play.

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