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June 11, 2010
Cops killed my sister's ex-husband with at least six bullets one early morning at the end of May as the culmination of a drunken crime spree involving stolen vehicles. When my sister arrived home from work, my mother, clutching the local newspaper, could barely choke out the news. My sister was far from being choked up herself.

"Oh, well," she said. "He was a fucking piece of shit anyway." I imagine this was punctuated by a slow blink, a stone-faced shrug, and a deep drag on the ubiquitous cigarette.

The man she'd married had died long before that.

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