Harry
was in the coma for eleven months, and when he woke up he could see ghosts. They
were everywhere, and more, they were constantly fucking. Floating through the
air, in pairs, in groups, totally debauched—every imaginable kink was
represented, and there were no boundaries. Why would there be? They were
already dead, they deserved to have some fun. Harry was horrified. The most
difficult part was explaining that we all saw them, too, and that we had
learned to look the other way. For us, it was no big deal. We’d had eleven
months to get used to it.
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