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The Man Who Could've Saved Toronto, Steve Nash

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Restless in the night, I woke in a fugue state and gazed into my ceiling mirror. Sprawled in the reflection beside me was Steve Nash. He feathered his hair with an ivory-toothed comb and grinned like a savage. Purple and gold pajamas were his nightclothes. Before acknowledgements could be made, he rolled over and whispered to me:

"I am a noble man, and you must forgive me."

Read the whole story at The Classical

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