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Rebel Girl's been showing up, too—giving finals, collecting essays—only she's got a cold or something plus pink eye, which she got from Limber Lou, who got it from some of those Republican brats he hangs out with in the canyon.
He's a great kid, that Limber Lou. Check out the picture I took of 'im a couple of days ago. The kid never stops moving—he spews little-kid sauce out in all directions, and there's no use protecting yourself—so this is the best I could do. I like his hair.
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Why were we out there? Reb's into dark, foul conspiracies by corporations and administrators. With a hushed voice, she suddenly said, "Check out this weird machine over here!" OK. I stared at it. It looked like one of those Dyson vacuum cleaners, only big and green. It was made of fiberglass and it sat behind a chain-link fence. It's mighty weird. I guess.
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Then she dragged me just around the corner to some weird emergency shower—you know, for when chemicals splash in your eyes. It was on a nondescript building, sans windows, next to the biologists' greenhouse/park.
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Yeah. This must be the "Raghu P. Mathur Chemical Depository and Park." Ugly and creepy. Perfect.
Nobody ever comes out here. Nobody ever will.