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Post by Paolo Carassa on Oct 12, 2008 5:52:47 GMT -5
Paolo Carassa Gaunt ambler the same size as anybody, with a broad working back and his father's compact gait. Latino in makeup, true blue beer-swilling Texan in mind. Hands that work construction and a face that works the crowd. Usually won't let you meet his own dark brown eyes--them sad wet things mislead people into thinking he's soft.
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So there was this mangy old thing just laying in the road one night, half dead and crazed with pain. Paolo is told to take the axe out of the shed and get it gone. He never returned to the warm light of his family's living room, not that night or ever. They still set a plate out for him at supper, though it's been nigh on ten years.
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You can find Paolo with the rest of the boys on-site most days, frowning and toiling and thinking, biting a dirty thumbnail or eating lunch with his head lowered. He'll struggle through a book in a park or knock back a few at his apartment.
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