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I enjoy peering into kitchen sinks. It's like performing an autopsy to see what the victim had for her last meal: "Well, it looks like she had a value meal, some brandy, and maybe the rest of the cough syrup. We are unable to determine what kind of sandwich came with the value meal at this time."
The kitchen sink is the final dump, a stainless-steel rubbish bin in which to deposit last-second debris before walking through the front door for the last time.
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