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They raised him and Amanda, his half sister. His mother had made a go of it in New England. Only once in awhile would she show signs of her Italian childhood. "Topolino mio," she used to call him when he was little and she'd been partying. He poured a nightcap and put on a tape Coltrane and Johnny Hartman. I'm wasting my life, he thought suddenly. What am I going to do?
"Are you going to Vientiane?" "Yes." "To do what?" "Partying there. You?" "Sure, partying with you." "Might as well have an early one then." The stranger raised a beer up to Nawin who put it in his hands and gave the prayerful gesture of the "wai" even though it was upside down. "How long can you hang that way?" "Don't know," said Nawin. "Don't try drinking it that way.
And it doesn't matter whether the price is in dollars, hide, or life. It's our way and our luck. It works. And, d'ye know, we've never been gouged on the price yet." It was a stag lunch. As Forrest explained, the girls were "hen- partying."
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