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By Haley Moore
I still owe the Cafe an apology - one I plan to deliver, if they ever let me in there again. In my defense, I really did think it was something in the coffee at first; some cocktail of LSD and speed with maybe a dash of roofie to make me zone out. But I didn't touch the coffee, of course, between that first sip and the nightmare start, running my pen in a little white trench in a book with a blood-red cover.
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