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From ‘The Road from Setup to Payoff’ by Karen Barr, (Writers Village University, MFA 250-261 Story Focus series based on the book by Lisa Cron)

One of our most hardwired expectations is that anything that reads like the beginning of a new pattern—that is a setup—will in fact, be a setup, with a corresponding payoff.
A setup is a fact, an act, a person, an event—something that implies future action. (It is) a piece of information the reader needs well in advance of the payoff so the payoff will be believable.
To the reader, everything in a story is either a setup, a payoff, or the road in between.
Setups, when done well, read like fate.

From the student’s private notes.
Setups contain both clues and red herrings.

*
It was a dark and stormy night
A diversity (clue or red herring) gothic screenplay

By
Joy Manné

Cast:
the Countess von Ravensblakk (East European) – Weird Owner
Growly (English, of course) – the Butler
Norbert E. Temple (American) – Architect
Burly Dwarf (Caucasian) – Camera Man
Tyke Mison (black) – Director
Producer (race: none of the above) – in wheelchair
Woman (none of the above and different from the Producer) – in Red-high-heels
Gorilla (Africa) – in frock coat
Thin man who looks like David Niven (obvious) – Thin man who looks like David Niven


ACT I.

Scene 1.

It is a dark and stormy night.

The rain falls in torrents except when a violent gust of wind hurls it in face-stinging spray. 

Lightning flashes, illuminating a man’s face in the attic window of a turreted mansion built in American Gothic style for Malcolm Nudgeridge III by the Chicago architect Norbert E. Temple.

It is the last mansion Temple built before his sudden disappearance.

Someone’s hiding or imprisoned.



Scene 2.

Lightning flashes again.

This time it illuminates the wrinkled face of an elderly woman with disordered grey hair, peering out of a ground floor window.

‘I am the Countess von Ravensblakk,’ she says, as if to remind herself.

Is that her real name?

Thunder rolls.

Behind the woman, a growly voice says, ‘I hear the car, Modom.’

‘Madam, Growly!’ the elderly woman snarls. ‘I said you were to call me Madam not Modom.’

If there’s a butler, he must have done it (or not).
And, what is their relationship?
Did the butler help her kill the Count von Ravensblakk—if indeed he is dead? 



Scene 3

Lightning flashes yet again.
The face in the attic has disappeared.
It must be found.



Scene 4

Lightning makes sparks fly off the gleaming mirror-surface of a crimson limousine, its headlights almost drowned by the pouring rain.
Have they lost their way?
Who are ‘they’?



Scene 5

The limousine halts at the bottom of the front steps in a shrieking peacock’s tail of skidded gravel, its headlights flashing like disco lights.

Above the sound of a loudspeaker playing punk, a voice shouts ‘We’re here.’

They have not lost their way.

‘We can hear and see that,’ rasps Modom’s raspy voice.

[‘Madam,’ Modom reminds the author in a voice full of menace. ‘Call me ”Madam’ or you may not tell my story.’]

Is the author a character in this drama?

Madam complains to Growly, ‘What I only have to do to keep this old mansion that has been in my family for centuries repaired, Growly!’

The Countess yearns to keep the mansion.

‘Decades, perhaps, Modom. Not Centuries,’ Growly growls.

Does the butler know all the family secrets?



ACT II

Scene 1

Growly opens the front door warily and wearily. He presses the releaser-button of a black umbrella eight feet in diameter as he thrusts it out of the doorway. The umbrella bursts open, sounding like a gunshot.

A thin man with a fine-line moustache—

Someone’s gotta look like David Niven—

But is he a good guy or a bad guy as well as a smooth guy?


—has a foot out of the door of the limousine. He hears a gunshot and, fast as a bullet, retreats his foot and slams the door. It too sounds like a gunshot.

Growly raises the hand that doesn’t hold the umbrella.

[Author. This could go on at least three times, to suit the director.]

At last the foot belonging to the man who looks like David Niven touches the ground and he steps out of the limousine. A rainbow coloured golf umbrella with the name of a famous golf course on it thrusts out of the passenger door like a sword and opens in a flash with a menacing click-whoosh and the opening notes of the Ride of the Valkyries (by Wagner).

This umbrella does not hide a sword, but Growly’s may, or it may hide something worse.

Growly peers to see who else is in the limo.

As the disco lights refract from the sheets of solid rain, Growly’s gaze cannot penetrate the limo windows.

‘Where’s the money?’ Growly shouts at the thin man. ‘No entry without money.’

‘You are vulgaire, Growly,’ the Countess von Ravensblakk says, sighs, and then hisses, ‘But unfortunately you are necessaire.’

She is French? She is Russian? She is …?

[Author. This is not My Fair Lady.]


In the dim flickering candlelight coming from within the mansion, the thin man sees a blunderbuss in Growly’s hands. Growly has transformed his umbrella with one click—a silent one this time.

By Chekhov’s Law, the gun must be fired before the end of the drama.

The thin man holds his hands up above his head. In each is a pale green money bag labeled with a $ sign in deeper green.

‘Bring them here. Put them down,’ Growly growls.

Are the notes numbered? Is there a microchip in each bag?



Scene 2

The thin man wades through the turbulent streams that are now removing the gravel from the gravel path and carrying it downstream.

The mansion stands on a hill.

[Author. ‘Removing’ is irony: streams cannot remove. Hence it is a metaphor. Also, it is sinister: gangsters remove their enemies. See Lesson on Subtext.]


He mounts the stairs to the wooden front door which has been blackened to prove its great age.

He places the moneybags just within the doorway.

Growly kicks them further inside and shuts the door with the kind of thud that shows it is not real oak.

Is it a real mansion?

The thin man’s moustache twitches nervously as he strokes a hard L-shaped outline in his jacket pocket.

Is he armed?
Is it a gun?
Is it a real gun?
What else could a hard L-shaped outline in a man’s jacket be?


Scene 3

Growly opens the door. ‘You get thirty minutes,’ he says. ‘Not a second more.’

What’s the deal?

‘All the way to the attic?’ The thin man asks.

‘All the way,’ Growly says, ‘but don’t force open locked doors.’

Someone or something is hidden behind a locked door.

‘Cameras,’ the thin man shouts. ‘Action.’

Have they hired the mansion as a film set?



Scene 4

The various doors of the limousine burst open.

Burly Dwarf, the cameraman, bounces out in his unique burly fashion. His clothes are burly too.

Tyke Mison, the director leaps out athletically. He has an uncanny resemblance to a famous boxer.

The producer rolls out in an orange wheelchair which has its own umbrella.

Is it a real umbrella?

‘We’ve observed diversity,’ the thin man shouts as he leads the way into the mansion.

Diversity takes its rightful place.

[Author: They won’t film anything unless there’s diversity these days.]


‘No you haven’t.’ Countess von Ravensblakk says. ‘Where’s the real woman?’ Her voice is so cold it turns the rain to sleet.

Diversity doesn’t take its rightful place.

Plus, she is a dangerous woman.


‘I had my sex changed,’ Tyke Mison shouts as he and the film crew push past Countess von Ravensblakk. ‘I’m an ex-broad.’

No one is who they seem to be.

The Woman in Red high heels and the Gorilla in a frock coat emerge from the limousine and run in to the mansion.

‘I am a lesbian,’ the woman shouts.

‘I am not,’ the Gorilla shouts gayly.

The Gorilla is not what he seems to be.

The wheelchair rolls up the stairs, two at a time.

‘You have already used five minutes,’ A metallic voice announces.

Is this an electronically controlled mansion?

Are there traps, like collapsing staircases? Doors that open to a five-story drop?

Who is the Woman in the Red High Heels?

What colour is the Gorilla’s frock?

[Author’s personal reminder. Ooops. This belongs in the Lesson in Description. Take out.]



Scene 5

Growly throws open the door to a bedroom dense with spiderwebs.

The door comes off its hinges and flies across the room.

The film crew rushes in.

They haven’t noticed the flying door.

The Gorilla in a frock coat runs a bath for the Woman in Red High Heels.

The bath runs over.

Fulfilling the contract. Oops, this should be in the lesson on Your deal with the Reader.

‘You’ve had 23 minutes,’ the metallic voice computer-speaks. ‘Only seven to go.’

What will happen to them in seven minutes time?

‘The attic! The attic!’ yells the man in the wheelchair. He leaps out of it and bounds up the stairs at least three at a time.

He doesn’t need his wheelchair.

He, too, isn’t who he seems to be.


The wheelchair follows him.

The wheelchair isn’t what it seems to be either.

And don’t forget the face in the attic.



Scene 6

Countess von Ravensblakk and Growly slip into an elevator concealed in a pot holding an immense potted cycad, a direct sibling of the Encephalartos altensteninii cycad collected in the early 1770s from the Eastern Cape in South Africa by Kew's first plant hunter, Frances Masson, that grows in Kew Garden’s Palm Mansion.

No one notices.

The baddies are on the way.

‘At last, the attic,’ the Thin Man says, reaching a locked door at the top of five flights of stairs. ‘Now let’s find Temple. We’ve searched the other thirty-five rooms. He must be in the attic.’

Remember the disappearance of Temple?

‘I’m here. I’m here.’ A man’s voice comes from behind a double-lined maroon velvet curtain.

[Author. He is not the Wizard of Oz.]

The Gorilla tears down the curtain.

Behind it is a door.

‘Oak,’ Tike Myson, the ex-broad, says. ‘At least a hundred years old. And the tree it came from was two centuries old and a hundred feet in diameter. I know because my grandmother was a maidservant in this mansion when I was a girl.’

Myson punches the door. The lock explodes with a firework display.

The door and the lock are props made of cardboard.

The team surges into the room.



ACT III

Scene 1

A skeleton with a microphone in its hand stands dead-still on a black marble plinth.

On the plinth is a bronze plaque with TEMPLE engraved into it.

Payoff, payoff, payoff. Ooops. I’m not supposed to tell you this.

The film crew dash up to it.

Behind them a metal door slides across, screeching like claws scratching down hard on a very long black slate blackboard or the scream of a frightened ghost.



Scene 2

‘Gotta keep a legend alive,’ rasps the Countess von Ravensblakk to Growly in her nasty raspy voice. ‘Next appointment in a month.’

Real Gothic baddies.
Potential sequel: Will the next limousine contain more suckers or will they catch out the Countess and Growly?
(Author: This is not important as long as the audience is having fun. Chances are they won’t understand anyway. Keep ’em laughing. Keep ’em wondering. Keep ‘em confused)


‘What shall I do with the car, Modom,’ Growly says.

‘Madam,’ Countess von Ravensblakk snarls. ‘I said you were to call me Madam, not Modom.’

‘Madam.’

Thank you, Growly.’

The rain stops. The disco lights make sensual patterns against the ancient forest that surrounds the mansion.

Countess von Ravensblakk rips off her grey wig and shakes out her floor-length raven-black hair.

‘The rain’s stopped. The disco lights make me wild,’ she growls in a husky voice.

She rips off her mask.

Ah, she’s the famous actress, Carion M’rane

She rips open the Velcro on her old-fashioned clothes, revealing …

[The author will leave that to the reader’s imagination …]

‘The music’s groovy, Growly,’ she growls – no, she snarls– no, she’s trying to purr. ‘Let’s have a party.’

The actress who played the Countess von Ravensblakk grabs a mike and sings, ‘Send to the store. Let’s buy some more. Let’s have a party tonight.’

Growly rips off his wig, eyebrows, over-clothes …

An Elvis impersonator or the real Elvis?

The man who played Growly bows.

‘Before we rock,’ the woman who was the Countess von Ravensblakk says, ‘roll the limo into the lake with all the others, will ya, Growly.’

It turns out his real name is Growly and he is a famous magician playing his first role in cinema.



THE END

The Student will now read through this story marking all the setups and payoffs.
The student will mark clues and red herrings.
All students will hand in their coursework by



AAAARGHHHH
AAAARGHHHH
AAAARGHHHH

The student would have been grateful to the teacher for encouragement, intelligent suggestions, and especially for recognising that there was a story worth telling, but this is authentic gothic horror.

Teacher: I could not allow my best student to survive.

THE END

OR NOT QUITE


About the teacher

Teacher: Karen’s short stories have appeared in various online literary magazines in the U.S. and the UK.

Student: Please name at least 3. Teachers must inspire students. Teachers need not be modest and may boast

Teacher: But the teacher has less publishing experience than the student.

Student: is not convinced. Never mind. Flattery will get you everywhere.

Teacher: Karen has developed a number of MFA courses and classes for Writer’s Village University where she is currently working on her 3-year MFA and serves as Administrative Assistant and Staff Adviser.

Student: (silent in awe).

About the Student

Joy Manné’s flash fiction flashes in print (Lakeview Literary, 100 Voices, Sleep is a Beautiful Colour, the UK National Flash Fiction Day collection 2017) and online (Pygmy Giant, Cafe Aphra, Chicago Literati). Joy won the Writer’s Forum first Flash Fiction competition and the Geneva Writers Group 2015 prize for Memoir.
PS. Teacher says I’m an experimental writer but I’m just another eccentric English woman and of an unrestrained age.


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by

Sarah Yasin

A book club I’m part of recently discussed The Ruinsby Scott Smith. It’s not a book I would have finished reading based on the first 50 pages, but sticking with it afforded me insight into what a narrative voice can do. The story is about a group...

Read more: The Ruins and the Writing Technique of Negative Space

 

 

 

A River of Words

by

Penny Devlin

Go to work every day. Do your job. Do it well. Always learning, getting better every day. Soaking in the letters that become words, that lead to success.

Meetings, instructions, to-do lists, directions — the words start to drown like a river of brown muddy water rushing through...

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Canada, Marty, and The Exorcist

by

Jen Lowry

On our homeschool adventure today, we dreamed aloud of the places we would travel to if we could. My kids and I agree: Ireland and Scotland are our top two places to visit. We played music from Spotify and sang aloud to the merry tunes of the Irish.

...

Read more: Canada, Marty, and The Exorcist

 

 

 

Truth

by

Angela Hess

I am twisted, bent, and deformed on every side. Everyone trying to use me to serve their own purposes, to justify their own beliefs and actions. Their eyes constantly sliding away from my pure, unaltered form, too brilliant and painful to behold without their chosen filters to dim...

Read more: Truth

 

 

 

A Monarch Chrysalis

by

Brigitte Whiting

The monarch caterpillar couldn't decide where to turn itself into a chrysalis. He wandered across my front stoop so many times I was afraid I'd step on it so I stopped using the front door. One time, he'd be crawling up a post of the front railing. Another...

Read more: A Monarch Chrysalis

 

 

 

Monarch Butterflies

by

Brigitte Whiting

I had no idea what milkweed looked like because I'd never seen it, but I'd always wanted it to grow in my yard so I could see the monarch butterflies.


For the longest time, I've hoped the patch of wonderfully fragrant plants with pale purple flowers growing...

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For Meno

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

Dedicated to my sister Marilyn Anne Walker Potoski

When I was little,
You were my protector.
I called...

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Overheard

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

as I ride the elevator, the door opens,
two men, one grey-haired, the other red-haired,
dressed in immaculate...

Read more: Overheard

 

 

 

A Haibun

by

Louise E. Sawyer

In our Japanese Poetic Forms class, we studied the haibun form. It is an inspiring event in the...

Read more: A Haibun

 

 

 

The Guardian

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

The lone poplar tree has watched over
the back yard for fifty years.
It has been a haven...

Read more: The Guardian

 

 

 

Stranded

by

David Yerex Williamson

Airport runway lights
smashed again
we wait
for the sun
cold coffee in paper cups
torn night
draped...

Read more: Stranded

 

 

 

Kisikisotowaw Awasisak

by

David Yerex Williamson

breeze over empty shoes
whispers stories from those
who the land gave
lowered flags on stone buildings
hush
...

Read more: Kisikisotowaw Awasisak

 

 

 

Septembering

by

David Yerex Williamson

Half-way through
the old argument I study the recipe
on the Pacific Evaporated Milk can
harvest milk and...

Read more: Septembering

 

 

 

The Living

by

David Yerex Williamson

If you want to learn to live
     truly  
fall in love
with one who is dying.
...

Read more: The Living

 

 

 

March 1st at Lochside Drive

by

Louise E. Sawyer

I crunch my boots into the snow,
stare at the daffodil shoots,
which struggle to bloom soon,
attempt...

Read more: March 1st at Lochside Drive

 

 

 

Sonnet for Yanni

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

Yanni’s my black and white tuxedo cat.
He’s christened after Uncle John, our friend.
He supervises birds from...

Read more: Sonnet for Yanni

 

 

 

Springtime in the Valley

by

Frankie Colton

When it’s springtime in the Valley
Here is my advice to you
Stay inside, the wind is blowing
...

Read more: Springtime in the Valley

 

 

 

The Hundred Stairs

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

The practical reason for building
the Hundred Stairs
was to create a shortcut
between Third Avenue and uptown...

Read more: The Hundred Stairs

 

 

 

Why Can’t I Be Happy With How I Look?

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

Why can’t I be happy with how I look?  
    
Why do I wish for her...

Read more: Why Can’t I Be Happy With How I Look?

 

 

 

The Cat Days of Summer

by

Daniel Novak and Gerardine Gail Esterday

The long, slow climb to the highest branches stretching into an open sky.
Focusing on the ground, a...

Read more: The Cat Days of Summer

 

 

 

Lynn’s Tree

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

Lynn’s maple tree
was always the last to emerge
from winter’s sleep,
when it burst into leaf,
the...

Read more: Lynn’s Tree

 

 

 

The Scream That Is Also a Song

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

Free verse on the page that
is my tongue; raw flesh,
smooth and thin, dipped
in blood-tinted ink—

...

Read more: The Scream That Is Also a Song

 

 

 

The Moods of McCorquodale

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

Our very first visitor was a cat.
Corkie came for a day, adopted us.
He soon had his...

Read more: The Moods of McCorquodale

 

 

 

Haunted House

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

a grey woodsy coloured house
stands abandoned
in the midst of a haunted wood,
its windows are broken,
...

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Déjà Vu

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

She went into the woods to find
the wolf that haunted her

She went to the brook to...

Read more: Déjà Vu

 

 

 

Be Leery Of What Falls From Above

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

My forest dances on the wind, swirling above the green and brown copsewood. Above, branches split, held up...

Read more: Be Leery Of What Falls From Above

 

 

 

ARS Poetica

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I paint with words

I see
the pink tinge of fluffy white clouds
at sunset

I see
my...

Read more: ARS Poetica

 

 

 

Lake Katherine

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

turquoise water of the lake
stretches for miles,
as far as the eye can see

two spruces wave
...

Read more: Lake Katherine

 

 

 

Neighborhood Walk Meditation

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

Vultures gather on the old man’s neighbor’s barn,
‘decorated with ravens and barren trees.
A small cottontail stirs...

Read more: Neighborhood Walk Meditation

 

 

 

Dream Metaphor

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I shiver in the darkened room,
stretch, try to pull the covers higher,
suddenly I am floating near...

Read more: Dream Metaphor

 

 

 

A Whitmanesque Inventory: Spring

by

Phebe Beiser

So glad it rained last night. Now, late morning, sun shines,
an unexpectedly warm early March. What a...

Read more: A Whitmanesque Inventory: Spring

 

 

 

Solitary

by

Malkeet Kaur

For eons now, the very core of my being
has become inaccessible.

Solitary.

Once it used to be...

Read more: Solitary

 

 

 

The Blanket Hugs Me

by

Louise E. Sawyer

I’m grateful that I have a daybed
downstairs where I can rest during the day
with my Guinea...

Read more: The Blanket Hugs Me

 

 

 

On Love and Dreams

by

Miriam Manglani

1.
Love is a beast and angel and dream on fire.

2.
Your soul wakes in your dreams.

...

Read more: On Love and Dreams

 

 

 

The Writer’s Breastplate

by

Louise E. Sawyer

…apologies to St. Patrick


Creative Spirit with me,
Creative Spirit before me,
Creative Spirit behind me,
Creative Spirit...

Read more: The Writer’s Breastplate

 

 

 

The Sweater

by

Malkeet Kaur

As I rummage through the clothes,
I spot it, the well-worn white sweater
that now had aging spots...

Read more: The Sweater

 

 

 

The Holly Tree

by

Nolo Segundo

We have a large holly tree
in our backyard—
is it foolish to say
you love a tree?

...

Read more: The Holly Tree

 

 

 

waiting on an email

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

rain beats against the metal awning.
winds whipped up against two storms
racing each other over the Mississippi
...

Read more: waiting on an email

 

 

 

You Talkin' to Me?

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Kitten Wonder Full

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Off the Pier

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Capturing the Balloon Launch

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Cooper in the Sun

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Flores Para Los Muertos

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Post Modern Totem

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Raccoon Delight

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Constructing a Crew

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Moth in the Mirror

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Cat's in the Cradle

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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A New Day Begins

by

Bob Hembree

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Angst

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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The Fly on the Wall

by

Bob Hembree

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Glancing Vulnerably

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Fowl Squabbling

by

Bob Hembree

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A Mid-Photo's Daydream

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Solar Reflection

by

Bob Hembree

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Being Held Up

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Reflections

by

Paula Parker

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Jack

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Hollister

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Evelyn

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Curiosity

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Rebecca

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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