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Circles of Pain.

Morning.  The sounds of traffic, and of neighbours.  Of…

Norman Osborn

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Ouch
Morning.  The sounds of traffic, and of neighbours.  Of life, the city waking.  And the sun, shining summer-bright through uncurtained windows into a still most-unfurnished bedroom.  A broad, muscled form groans, and tries to hide his face against a smaller, curvier one's shoulder.

Wow.  That was a lot of wine last night, huh?
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