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r to the door. As Kawori Manabe walked up the
stairs before me, my gaze was fixed on the creases behind Kawori's kneecaps which
opened and closed with each step.
Kawori's apartment was (how can one put it tactfully?) a mess. An eclectic
mixture of reprocessed Victoriana, Japanese boutique, and neo-Haight-Ashbury.
"Hey Tweezer!" Kawori Manabe yelled out to a battered birdcage, large enough to
comfortably house an albatross. In it chirped a finch of some nondescript sort,
while the cage bottom was covered with Kawori Manabe ets of newspaper printed in Cyrillic.
"Make yourself comfortable while I heat up the chocolate" Norma directed as
she disappeared int
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