James Derulo's

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The Drifter Ch. 8

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When we walked into what was once Dot's Cafe, I looked up at the huge spider webs covering the circular fan, light fixtures, and the ceiling in the corners of the room. The restaurant was filthy with thick layers of dust and debris. Old newspapers were piled in a corner by the door. A dozen dirty round wooden stools sat in front of the splintered counter. On the opposite wall, across from

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