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Black jeans tucked into sensible black biker boots.
Black pinstripe bra, visible under my black fishnet shirt with black cotton cuffs and collar, but then covered again by the black velvet vintage waistcoat.
Silver bat.
The remains of my eyeliner.
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The noblest sentiment I have encountered and the most passionate political statement to stir my heart both belong to a fictional character. Why do we have no politicians as pure in their intent and determinedly joyous in their outlook as Arkady Bogdanov of Red Mars?
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