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... t Sensei?)"

In which I ride a bike I definitely don't have a license for and don't immediately end up in jail. Mostly thanks to supernatural bribery.

So there I was, face planted on a patch of grass, breathing like I'd just run five marathons while being chased by zombie cheerleaders. Every part of me ached. My ribs felt like they'd been auditioning for a percussion solo, and my lucky baseball bat? Bent at the handle and halfway to retirement.

And then the men in ...

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