<B>A BAD HEMINGWAY STORY
<P>by a bunch of people
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<P>CHAPTER ONE
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<P>Although the bulls have long cleared the streets, the young men were still sweating and leaping for the amusement of the beautiful spanish women. He walked among them lamenting his own lost youth. The evening quickly fell into clear night and all around the sounds of intoxicated voices wove around him like a school of minnows caught in a strong undertow. He pushed open the door to the closest watering hole and stood at the door for a moment before going in.
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<P>His name was Fred.
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<P>It was a dark cantina. The cantina was dark like the night that falls swiftly during wartime in the Sangre de Cristo mountains. Fred had not thought about the Sangre de Cristo in many years. Maria had been there. Maria and many, many bottles of the sharp, crisp Catenza that the Mexican elders drink in the hot noonday sun.
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<P>Why, thought Fred, were so many of them named Maria?