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If life had a soundtrack, it wouldn't always help.
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EXCERPT FROM
iBrood
Secure in the embrace of an Irish pub, a young man sits alone at a tall table. His spot was carefully chosen, his stool repositioned, to place him in a back corner but with a clean line of sight to the front windows. In his left hand is a black velvet ring box with 1.21 carats of three months' salary. In his right--as is as often as not the case--is an iPod.
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