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| | John McNally |
 | | Gary never knew where to look, what to do, so he would stand off to the side, rearranging the fruit-shaped magnets and family photos on the refrigerator: a pineapple in lieu of a toddler’s head, a giant banana sprouting from their schnauzer’s butt. |
 | | Gary craves warmth, he’s willing to make deals with a higher power, but he’ll be goddamned if he’s going to hang around inside of a dead deer and wait for his worthless friends and neighbors to find him. |
 | | Gary, unable to stop quivering, the night’s deep freeze still trapped in his bones, slips on leather gloves, zips himself into his father’s wool trenchcoat, and pulls on a ski-mask that covers his entire head except for his eyes and mouth. |
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