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March 29, 2013
It was a makeshift cafe, nestled close to the bowels of downtown. Heating ducts made of crinkled tin foil stretched down the length of the room, stopping where a band had set up to play. Vlad examined an oil on canvas, depicting a girl in a bonnet with half of her face worn away. A woman whose face was covered in a shade of zombie blue sold him coffee from a small Krupps machine behind the dusty counter. He sipped conservatively as the band played, noticing the 20-something couple with matching neck tattoos of their spine underneath their skin.