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Somewhere inside, my brain knew it was cold. I saw white puffs when I breathed. I heard the wind whipping the chains on the courthouse flagpole. But as I put my head against the frosty green Pinto, I didn't feel cold. It was a good thing-I didn't know where my coat was. If I had noticed the cold, I probably would have noticed the stink. My shirt was soaked with a regurgitated mixture of grain alcohol and orange juice. "What will we do with him this time?" I heard one of my...
