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Jan Richman

Summer 1998

Out of Pocket

By Jan Richman

I might die if he won’t handle me, I’ve got to feel his hands on me, the tricky, trappist way he turns to me and turns me into turning leaves […]

Summer 1998

Shoo Fly Shoo

By Jan Richman

That’s because she’s nice to you, my friend said when I mentioned leading a blue-eyed girl down a pink lane lined with false impressions, pirate loot and trepidation, how I […]