Twenty-one.

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"You're going the wrong way" say the woman with a fine ass and her two daughters with better asses. Get down: bromide tea required. Husband watches them wiggle onwards alongside me thinking "am I going the wrong way?". Otherwise I'd have seen no one. Plenty of elderly dogs attempting to bark, with more wheeze than insidious intent; bye bye wonder bums. Who needs medical teas when all I really require is a bull in my path bellowing between his heirs. White as snow cows, but the father looks too testicular to offer much resistance.

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