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| | A Toast To Skink, A Short Story - Page 1 |
 | | Skink was one of those few people who could count on a warm night in the police station, his consignment any empty cell, a bare mattress, a bare pillow, at the back end of the station. |
 | | Skink, the man, was long and lanky, over six feet even at a glance, and not many spare parts to him at first note; gaunt much of the time if you want a better word, that Lincoln-esque quality I came to associate with old Abe and Raymond Massey and whoever else played the part. |
 | | Skink’s foot slipped repeatedly off the rubberless brake pedal, panic becoming the log forever lodged in his chest, the incurable mill dam at origin, his foot from that second forevermore reaching for the elusive and slippery pedal. |
| www.3ammagazine.com /features/may2001_tom_sheehan/skink.html (5159 words) |
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