

Read this back in March. One of the strangest books I‘ve ever come across, and I mean that in a good way. It was written by a local Sacramento artist, so I was lucky to find it in a little free library. Trippy, weird, funny, sad. Good for fans of the absurd and drug addled stream of consciousness writing. The highlighted section from his bio says "Unfortunately, Karlos Rene Ayala currently lives in Sacramento, California" ?
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