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Savannah

I was near the end of my rope when I had the good fortune of meeting Savannah. She was my salvation. A Florida native who worked as a barmaid at Bobicks where I flipped burgers and dipped most of the food we served in the frying bin. I always had a thing for barmaids. She was sweet and short. Twenty-three with a tiny waist and wide hips. She had no immediate ambition except to spend her days at the beach. We hit it off after I made her some of my secret battered fried calamari. Trading in the ecstasy wave for the mellower weed route we spent our days sleeping in, sunbathing, working and watching movies.

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