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Sabra

Sabra grabs other people’s sleep where they lose it: in stairwells, under bridges, in hospital waiting rooms. You can fill a bottle from the open window of a house with a new baby. Road work downtown leaves a thick and grumpy wake.

But sometimes. Entering the last week of rehearsal, when the crew slumps into each other as they leave in the wee hours–when sweet young Skipper begs for a neck rub, and Sabra finds a knot with her fingers. So much locked up in there. So easy to extend the fangs under her tongue, lean down, puncture, drink deep.

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