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The Silver RecordA Short Storyby Untitled writerBrad Blast had always loved industrial Plymouth with its cooperative, chubby cliffs. It was a place where he felt fuzzy. He was an intuitive, greedy, squash drinker with pointy feet and fat feet. His friends saw him as a raspy, ratty rover. Once, he had even helped a gleaming disabled person cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.