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February 20, 2007

Jeff R.: The Low Road from Houston

She was tall, thin, flat-chested with wild blonde hair. She smelled like fruit and had a strange accent and was bound for 'Arkady'. I was going the right direction.

She told strange tales of her childhood, and listened to mine, as I drove, heading home for summer. After dark, I stopped at a hotel.

I had them bring a cot, but after midnight she climbed, naked, into my bed and "taught me all a man need know of pillow-tricks". Her words.

That afternoon, as I crossed the Georgia-Tennessee border, she vanished from her seat, leaving only the scent of apples.

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