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Sport 19: Lightworks

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When you open the door on Fat Boy and he has his pants down, he will slam you. How he does this is before you can even move or murmur ‘God, you're fat’ in a gasp of absolute revulsion at the fat, the fat, the layers of curling, slopping, beat-each-other-to-the-ground golden-syrup fat, he has placed one hand at the back of your head, one on the door, and brought the two together as friends, and all that you think as you fade quietly to the floor, if you think anything, is how small his little dicky looked, small and almost normal-sized.