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Robert's Care Giver Book

“God,

Would You Hire

ME?”

I Already Have.” ©™    

Someone takes care of you

when you enter the world.

And if you're lucky, you get to take care of them on the way out.

With hilarious, revealing surprises too.

By

Robert Kutchera

 

Copyright ©2010-2015 Robert Alfred Kutchera

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book or it's title may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the author, proposed agent or publisher.  Simultaneously to be published in Spanish, "El Cuento De Lin"©.   Screenplay adaptation, "Going Places"©. "God Would You Hire Me?"  "I Already Have."©   and the Eight Corner Compass logo are Pending or Registered Trademarks® of Robert Alfred Kutchera, Business Humor Corporation, Boca Raton , Florida , USA . 954-725-0750

                                      

Welcome Home, Again.

     

   What's going to happen to me when I open the door to the ladies room?

In the first place, guys aren't allowed. And what if my lively 89 year old aunt isn’t there. 

Crazy day, again. Where did she go? If she was in there, was she passed out in a stall? 

Lot's of toilets, nothing else. Or worse, was she just chatting with another woman. 

And I’m like a psycho, snooping into every stall. Bet that’ll look good in court. 

But if none of this has happened, so maybe I find her, convince her, and we make 

a mad dash out the ladies rest room. What is wrong with my head today? 

How do I explain this to a judge? Maybe the security cameras aren’t

working. So we casually slide out together without knocking down another old lady-or man.

And scoot back to our cafeteria seats and act like tourists. I never thought I’d be taking

care of a happy-go-lucky retired old lady that I love so much.  But I’m sure she’s lost.

So I’m thinking…

     --I definitely not going in there. 

     --Oh, go ahead. Shes your sweet aunt. Who’d possibly mind? Besides, she helped raise

you when you were a little boy. Now you’re taking care of her by yourself.

     So I opened the forbidden door and entered the cave of screaming faces. I knew if I acted like

I belonged, they’d…I don’t know. Gees, nothing but stalls and spray perfume. Most expensive

air I ever breathed. Nice décor for a highway stop. Busy place, ladies laughing and talking. 

But they stopped dead when they saw me. Don’t know why. In stadiums, women often dash into 

a men’s room at half-time. Because their restroom lines wrap around the building. Women just 

know how to solve problems.

     Let’s see it had been 12 months since I started this care giving stuff. Before that, I knew in 

the time it took a woman in the restroom, several guys could finish. But now I knew why. My aunt

told me some of the logistics mystery. This was a journey that would take me through hospice with 

her, but I didn't know that either.  Also when I put my aunt’s colorful dress on her backwards, we both

agreed it looked much better that way. I was amazed, but she laughed and laughed. She was 

teaching me to care for her.  

     Justifying didn’t help. I was still in the wrong place. The urinals were missing. I thought

faster.  Escape would be nice-Not! First I’d be hog-tied by multi-tasking women using control

panty hose, then jamming paper towels down my yelling throat. Then sit on me. Four of them.

     As my captors scattered, the SWAT team would find me swinging on a hook in a stall. We all

 have bogus fears. They make our world small. Plus, I missed that at this Orlando turnpike stop,

thrilled kids and adults were headed for a theme park, Florida’s sugary beaches or Latin flavor in

Miami. Plus the instant aroma of fast-food had everyone focused on this incredible oasis.

     Looking for my aunt here in the bathroom brought me back. Was she unconscious in a locked

stall? Would police show up together with the ambulance? Her backup prescriptions were in the

car, weren’t they? I was lost in a Rolodex of worry.

     But lucky me, there was Aunt Lin holding onto her cane, her unbeatable spirit, laughing with

a teenager. She was swaying to Caribbean bathroom music, bathed in cosmetic lights, revealing

an upbeat soul. Not your typical old lady. Not one single woman has moved since I showed up. 

     Hello Robbie!” she said too loudly. I whispered,Lin its REALLY time to go. theyre

looking at me!  Especially that one in the corner ready to pass out. But with a delightful

gesture, she twirled me to face my female firing squad. Ladies, my name is Valentina, but they

call me ‘Lin’. And this is my Godson Robert. Hes helping me now. It was the first moment I

felt safe in here.

     I gave this limp little wave. Two retired ladies graciously approached. Just as if they were  

strolling in a summer English garden. The smaller one was first to shake my hand. I looked

at my meek smile in the mirror. This was new, networking in the ladies’ rest room. I reached

for a business card but realized it was a reflex.  She wouldn’t let go of my hand. For balance I

guess. Her AARP name tag said ‘Helen’. Her little mouth was big volume: “Young man?”  I

liked that. “This your first time in our digs?” Happily, the way I said it, “Oh, a typical day.” But

the sunshine in her face went instantly to premonition. Did she think what I was doing was 

tough love? If only she’d get the joy. But change happens. Her hazel eyes next traveled to my

reflection, bringing back her wondrous smile. I winked.  "Helen remember, there's nobody 

like you...even if you were born twins!"

     I turned sideways now, but all I saw were ladies, ladies. I faced down at my lonely white

sneakers then back up and disclosed, “Nice to see all you lovely ladies in here today. What a

creepy thing to say. Like choreographed Rockettes, they each backed into a stall. Guess my

aunt hadnt convinced them enough. I was glued to Lins waist, she moved an inch, I moved an

inch. I asked if she was okay. I wasnt, could we please leave? I heard my hearts thunder.  

Only my eyeballs moved, spotting women, serious in fact, adjust their beautiful outfits. A bit

like guys, but with wiggles, not tugs. Extraordinary, how we learn we’re all the same. Humor is

the illumination to human kindness.

     I shouldn’t have looked. A lady came out of a stall with the classic paper trail stuck to her

shoe. A long one. It danced across the floor with her. This was laughter to die for, but

I didn’t. I’d be toast for sure. She was the gal I’d imagined stuffed scratchy paper towels down

my throat. I did point kindly to her heels. She didn’t return my look.

     Now if Lin and I had been at the beach parade this time like last week, we would have used

the outdoor portable toilets. And none of this I’ll-disappear-and-you-find-me would have

happened. A funny experience lifts our life. What a gift.

     Finally, most left for their tour buses--quickly Id say--leaving a few Ladies-In-Waiting for

me to leave. Lin who was on my right, every once in a while glanced up. “Robbie, hi.” 

As if this was the most normal place to be. I was already tight-standing with my adopted

estrogen group in front of a cosmetics mirror that showed everything. Plus my clueless frown. 

With no make-up to put on, what should I to do with my hands? I stuck them in my pocket. 

Nah, too provocative. But I did anyway and crossed my fingers. I stared at shoes again.  Got

bored with that, looked at the ceiling. I still had to pee. Well, it ain’t gonna happen in here

Sherlock.  

     I was leaning between sinks when an innocent satin dress rubbed against me. The feeling

you’re unprepared for, like in a crowded subway. Then this:  “Can you believe it girl? Gotta

wax again…nine days, nine days this time!”  “Oh yeah?” Said my ego, “If I don’t shave every

morning, I become a walking porcupine.” I got dirty looks with that one, followed by church silence.  

Who cared, I was gonna be castrated anyway.

     A baby yelped.  I walked to my right. A woman in her 50's with a French accent, was cleaning 

her poodle at the Dandy Diaper Station. Things were improving, another male in here.  If a third 

showed up, this place would be unisex. “Can’t he ‘go’ outside?” “Max got car sick", she said, "so my husband 

is with our other male dog in the men’s room.” After all that I’d seen, this made too much sense.  

“Also”, she made sure I understood, it was improper for anyone to walk in the ladies room with 

more than one dog, that he was diabetic. “Your husband?” “No, Buster. Max’s buddy.”  

Was that alternative lifestyles? “No, they're just together a lot.”  

     “You’re from Canada aren’t you, how cool! No pun intended.” She quizzed me, “What

are you doing in here, eh?” I pointed to my aunt, who waved back at me and my new Canadian

friend understood. Max was put on the floor, who then burped and both walked out. 

     My relief! A quick glance proved police weren’t standing outside. Good, I had a few more

minutes of life. To my disbelief, women would breeze in, see me and run out the door assuming

they were in the wrong place. I was King Of The Restroom. Yeah, finally!  

     Good golly, ladies took a sweet summer getting ready. For my aunt, it didn’t matter, the

circumstances. “You embarrassed Robbie? Don’t be, I’m here. When you’re 89 you don’t

worry anymore.” “I wouldn’t trade this adventure”, I told her, “for all the tea the waitresses  

serve in Shanghai.”  But her hug was fragile. Now I was scared for her and I.

     Why at 52, was it necessary to be in this bathroom? As a kid, women I knew by first-name

took me into their domain so I could go potty. The visits however ended abruptly when I said 

something funny in a Daffy Duck voice. Ever since, I’ve used the restroom reserved for my sex.  

The one with the porcelain salad bowls attached to the wall. That’s what Lin called them.

The last time she came into the men’s room looking for me.  While I was in the ladies room,

looking for her. I was uncomfortable with all this because my reference point was men’s

rooms. With guys it’s quick time: They strut in, pull in to a pit stop, tinkle, wash hands--maybe--

then pitch the paper towel over their shoulder, missing the garbage can.

Then swagger out. 

     The clock was ticking on my execution when a delightful woman showed up at the mirror

for a facial tune-up. She applied semi gloss to each of her eye lids with a miniature paint brush. 

I was fascinated. Couldn’t be cheap, these cute tiny devices-oops, now there was a brush I’d  

never seen, whipped it out of her purse to dust off fingerprints on her face I guess. But in the end

the lovely results were marvelous and wonderful, weren’t they? I’d just never seen it all come

together. I turned to escort Lin out, when a tired mom with her quiet son, about four I guess, and

his older sister, all stopped under my face. “Good luck with what you’re doing for your mother.” 

“Thanks...”  I got it. She was raising kids alone. The little boy’s arms were droopy. Not good.  

That was me as a boy.   

     “Oh, she’s…my aunt.”, “Well she’s real lucky to have you.” Her eyes were framed in dark

circles the make-up couldn’t hide. “I’m a registered nurse in Fort Lauderdale. Almost 11 years

now and there’s never going to be enough of us.” I returned her encouragement by lying. “You

sure look pretty.”  “Is that a fact?” Her face softened. Gosh, she became beautiful. When she

was done with her talking, she parted with a caring nod and walked. For me…comforting a care  

giver, someone I’ll never see. 

      I got a steady hold of Lin and her bamboo cane. She was wearing sunglasses and a sun hat 

that matched her dress for this return trip from Georgia. It was a perfect, hot-oven day. We did this little

shuffle, arm in arm towards the exit. What a happy pair we were. I checked the back of her

dress. Good, not bunched up in her diaper. 

         “Lin you were a dressmaker for 34 years, how’s the diaper?" “Oh, my mini skirt?” If

that’s what she called it, she’d adjusted. I asked what men called their diapers. “Boxer-briefs.” 

Lin drew quick wit from three decades in New York City. I wondered what she thought of the

outfits I picked for her from the closet. None had manufacturing labels, she made them. 

Now I was fixing them.  

     Two steps to go. Without warning, two severe-looking women in dark gray pants suits,

probably Federal prosecutors, swung open the doors. I was about to be shot. At least my

aunt would know where to reach me. Their heels were like little hammers on the tile floor. I

avoided all eye contact. And didn’t know why I said it but, “Your restroom’s been properly

inspected ladies.” “And very clean too,” Lin added as she secretly squeezed my hand in code. 

I said, “Those women were from Florida Toilet Security.” “You think so?” I laughed my stress 

out good! It echoed way back in the bathroom. I bet someone fell off a toilet seat in there.

     The parking lot had people racket, buses and motorcycles mixing in with the mid-

afternoon sun. Oh, there they were! The two happy AARP ladies I networked with during  

My Enchanted Restroom Tour. They had boarded their sightseeing bus and we were parked

beside them. There was no sign of the belching poodle. 

     How cool, Helen, the short lady, was kneeling on her bus seat shaking like a cheerleader.  I

musta been a hit! She pulled back the window. “Hey there, Robert! Next time knock before

entering our bathroom. It looks better in court. Love ya!”

     I told Lin we were the funny odd couple. “You think so?” “We’re stars!” But humility

over took my soapbox ego as I saw the banner on the back of the bus, above the Louisiana

plates: “Believe In Strong Women, They Make Us Proud”. That completed my lesson in

the ladies restroom real fine. And on we went.

     The turnpike sloped into a hard turn along the edges of The Everglades. Lin was in the

passenger seat and I was obeying the speed limit.  Precious cargo. Another bend in the highway

and the sunset appeared as if someone in the universe had pushed a button. A peek-a-blue view,

revealing dashes of naked yellow, orange and scarlet. Like hot pants streaking across the sky.

     “Robbie…what?”  “Lin I lied to the nurse with the kids back there. I told her she was pretty.” 

“All the ladies thought you were a gentleman, and when you welcomed them today in the

restroom, was funny. “I didn’t plan THAT!” But Lin showed me what I didn’t see. The Fort

Lauderdale nurse was missing a pinky finger and wore no wedding band. “Yo observo todo.”  

“Just because you sew, you see more?” My understanding of Spanish was improving Lin said. 

      It was then and forever, I wanted to see with all my senses, to feel another person from afar. 

Through our friendship, she grew my common sense. Her hand brought my hand to hers on the

console. In my rearview mirror I saw the slight protrusion of her pacemaker under her neckline.

“But I…I’m sorry you got sick.” “Robbie, laughter and tears are wonderful twins.”  

     We were ending a seven-hour bladder-bouncing trip from Atlanta, Georgia. Going back to Lin’s 

adult living facility and some interesting characters. “I want to go to my house.” “Soon- soon.”  

I distracted her benevolently.  It was heartbreaking. “I want to go to my house Robbie.” I’d

closed her apartment the year before, deciding not to tell her. In this way, it worked out well.

    She often told me what she saw on TV, keeping curious. Never did she speak about politics,

but about freedom. I used to take her to vote. She knew what was on the ballot, everything.

Not now. It was the most excruciating thing in my care giving to not help her exercise that.

In 1990, her former fiancé, a Hungarian Jew who decades before fled the Nazis, was found

dead in his Havana synagogue. He’d maintained and lived in it after Communists took away

his clothing store. Lin had lost her rental property she’d built in Cuba for retirement. She was

Roman Catholic and had been a U.S. citizen since World War II.         

     On our trip this week, we told stories about her 10 brothers and sisters and my jokes. Better

than cow-counting, because on the edge of The Everglades, it was alligator-watching. When

it got cool outside, they’d rest on the warm asphalt or dry land because they couldn’t regulate

body temperature. Reptiles are cold-blooded, like a refrigerator. “That’s why,” I said, “You

should always use indoor restrooms, never near the thick saw grass on the banks of a swamp.” 

Plus we had carrot cake in the car to calm our fears. Another reward for out of the ordinary

experiences.

     The SUV was loaded with stuff that would help her. My mom had been collecting for months.

A walker, that Lin ended up using to hang underwear to dry. Oh, and house dresses, plus a 

rainbow of size eight panties. And three front-opening bras…another domestic mystery I never

found. Lin had trouble reaching her upper back, so I went to stores looking for them. Ended

up at that national chain for sexy women’s underwear that promised to help you ‘Marvelously

Increase Two Cup Sizes’. I should have stayed in the women’s rest room.

     Care Giver Tip: If you go to a lingerie shop and you’re a guy-don’t. Plus the perky sales

lady locked in on me as I knocked down a display of brassieres. Bra cups were attacking,

grabbing me like flying yarmulkes. I looked up at the security camera-and the sales lady. Told

her I was a professional drag queen and knew what I was doing. She wouldn’t have believed me

anyway.  I left the store bra-less. I bet they replayed the surveillance tape of me. 

     The turnpike exit was easily two blocks from Lin’s senior housing. She was happy in the

parking lot, feeling the sunshine, walking without her cane. As we entered, some eyes followed

us across the room: The lobby of Lin’s ALF, Adult Living Facility. She didn’t know who ‘ALF’

was but thought he ran a clean place. For seven months it had been her home. 

     You have to visualize 30 ladies, maybe three guys, seated on couches or arm chairs, some

moving with walkers decorated with little American flags all over the lobby. It was Memorial

Day.  Folks I enjoyed seeing again. “Hi Valentina!”  

     Popcorn aroma-all I needed was a bowl. It was Happy Hour and Connie, the entertainment,  

played a harmonica attached to her chest, accompanying herself on guitar and electric piano. 

She looked like a human nickelodeon. They were serving supermarket wine.      

     I signed Lin in, she was chilly. We still we had to pass the gauntlet of the formidable Paula. 

There she was, in a high collar, red print dragon dress, holding court by the edge of the reception

desk. She wanted to be where the action was. And give advice. She’d often insist to paramedics

the exact floor the resident  was they were collecting. The male receptionist with the spiked hairdo

would give them the correct floor. No matter, Paula would flirt with the hunky paramedics.

After words, she’d maneuver her wheel chair out of the way, ready for her next inquisition.    

     Rumor was Paula had been an elementary school teacher, a nun. Truth was she’d been a

traffic cop. Her best quote. "If you run, you'll only go to jail tired." A good month for her was

80 speeding tickets. She also taught teenagers how to drive. She must have been good at that. 

The back of her wheel chair said ‘Zoom-Zoom!’    

     Paula’s raspy voice lit up. “Doctor?  “I’m not your doctor.” “You sure look like my doctor.” 

But she’d ask again. Every day I entered the lobby. One day, I thought I could end her memory

deficit, so I said, “I’m really not your doctor, I’m your lawyer.”   “So call him and tell him to get off

his butt and call me. Thank you sir, have a nice day.” And I did.

     The other part was she broke her hip during the holidays. Her ex-husband visited her in the

hospital right after the anterior hip surgery, on New Year’s Eve. He snuck a bottle of champagne

and two glasses and they smooched, or rather he did. She was in and out of pain, he rattled a

noisemaker, threw confetti. He wanted to see the New Year’s countdown on TV from Times

Square. She wanted him to leave, so she hid the remote. The next afternoon Paula woke up 

thinking it had all been a dream, until she found empty glasses. In disgust, she laughed.

     Lin’s studio room, one of 28 on the second floor, overlooked a corner courtyard. I’d put

some of her oil paintings of fishing villages and mountain castles on her side of the room. 

It was Lin’s home. I told her it was just like my dormitory room in undergraduate school.

She liked that! I selected a clean dress for her. We were going to an outdoor show after dinner. 

She never tired of the adventures I planned. I remember I got the call to take care of her just

before a speech I was about to give in Denver. “We’re old here.” Said my uncle, her brother. 

“We can’t do it.” So I flew back East.

     Also in my aunt’s room, there was Esther. Her tiny, inquisitive companion all these months, she was

keenly appreciative of any social affection. I looked around. The care was great here, really

phenomenal-and necessary-but without pre-planning, it was an unscheduled way to manage your

life. So I remembered to have a simple plan typed up.   

     It was unpredictable watching after Lin, but there were all these funny things. Besides, I was

busy running around. Had a full-time job, a long-term relationship that needed repair, plus car

trouble. I worried that it might break down with Lin. But she looked great in my Jeep-what a

hoot!

     How I reacted to caring giving, saved me. I know it did. Like when I accidentally tore a

part of Lin’s dress after a struggle to get the complicated thing over her head. I hadn’t noticed a

zipper. It started at the waist, ending at the armpit. Why not two, one for each side? You know,

for a breeze. What a great idea for a line of active sports wear. Of course her outfit would look

good, once on. But the whole thing was this wad of cotton around her neck and elbow. Like a

ball of string that self-ties in knots. 

     “Crap, oh sorry Lin. Who dressed you this morning?” She didn’t understand that. “You

know you’re wearing two diapers.” Some things aren’t important. 

     It’s nerve-racking when you’re trying so hard. If you’re in a long-term relationship with a

woman, you more or less know how a dress comes off. Or much younger, when I caught a

glimpse of my sister dressing for school. You learn by elimination, how these things, how these

hidden buttons are supposed to work. Well I’d been through this domestic drama before and

absolutely knew this dress-gadget had to come off to fit right. I didn’t like I couldn’t care for her

at home either. 

     I carefully removed her Mickey Mouse pin from her blouse we’d bought at the turnpike stop. 

But realizing her beautiful outfit was wrinkled, I told Lin the tropical dress would have to be

straightened out. All she said was, “It’s okay Robbie...” “But it’s not Lin. We’re going to see

the Samba Street Dancers and we’ll be in public and your shoulder pads are dangling over your

shoulder blades. It’s like you’re double-breasted.” “Oh, it’s okay.”

     Had I been taking care of an old guy…I don’t know what that would be like. It’d be simpler,

for one thing there’s less to put on and figure out. But Lin made this outfit so I knew this

neat wad of fuzz and underwear had to fit. Good awareness for my first year, huh!

     Once her dress was correctly on, I was relieved. Until I saw her face. I’d smeared her

makeup in a big swoosh. Now I’d have to do that over. “Lin, I have to erase your eyebrows.

They’re crooked.” “You think so?” “I think so.” Beyond that my aunt was always serene.

     Now little Esther was fascinated. She right away turned off TV and suspended herself on the 

edge of the bed for a front row seat. Esther’s feet didn’t touch the floor. And she was missing a

black shoe. I’d look for it later. I just didn’t like being watched doing makeup on my aunt. Plus

I was awful at it. As a kid, wasn’t good at finger painting either. But I used lots of colors, like

now. Wish there was a chart to follow.

          I  re-painted one of Lin’s eyebrows. Pressed too hard and the tip of the light brown pencil

broke off on her forehead, falling in her lap. Lin said nothing of course, pointing at the squirrel

outside the picture window. She was as full of energy as a happy squirmy kid. “Robbie, we

need to give squirrels food.” “How ‘bout after the street fair?” 

      Esther leaned in for a closer look. Maybe if I got her popcorn she’d enjoy the show more. 

She smiled, I smiled back. We spoke some in German. I got such a kick out of her. She was

like a little munchkin from The Wizard Of Oz. Every night, I first would sit next to her on the

bed and we’d visit. Esther was a ‘dump-and-drop’. Her niece from what I could gather, paid

all the bills, but in two years never came to see or express hope. On her lower arm, she wore

the small tattooed numbers from the death camp. I would kiss my two ladies, excuse myself to

use their bathroom. And ran the water in the sink as I cried.

     Lin who lived alone most of her life, wasn’t ready for a roommate ever. It was a tough

match as they say, but perfect in God’s creation.

    Once in a while, Lin would look at Esther displeased. “Robbie, she’s a clean lady…but she

has to go home after dinner.” “Yes of course Lin.” I directed her thinking to a funny experience

we’d had earlier. And that kept the peace. It’s a technique called ‘Trainwrecks of the Mind’.   

     I maneuvered Lin’s head around, anchoring my arm, letting it rest gently on her forehead for 

uneasy balance. I was doing a fine portrait in oily make-up. There! Both eyebrows perfect.

Wait…one was smaller. So I rubbed the longer one on my sleeve so they’d be the same. Then I

tucked my blue shirt back into my pants. Once the eyebrows were back on her face, I did lips.  

A snap. A bit long, but hey, they made up for short eyebrows.  

     All the while I’d tell Lin what was going on with her face. Esther smiled. I was as attentive

as a plastic surgeon giving a consultation. I also needed to find Lin’s pink earring. Found it way

under Esther’s bed. It was by her stray black slip-on, amidst a small clump of fuzz.  

     But as I climbed out from underneath her bed, this determined bony hand grabbed my shirt.

“Robbie, where did you learn to do women’s make-up so gut?”  “Oh Esther, right here darling!” 

    And from these two older ladies, that suddenly came into my life at the end of theirs, I

experienced the gentle curves of their personalities and the love they had yet to bestow.

---

And This Is What I Learned

Don’t bring dogs into the ladies room. They bark.

Remember your brain needs legs.  Walk wherever you can.

Call someone tonight who misses you. To hear your voice say love.

And Take Care Of Yourself First

 

Editor's Note:  Each chapter concludes with care giver guidelines, both humorous and helpful.

 

Copyright ©2009-2014 Robert Alfred Kutchera

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book or it's title may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the author, proposed agent or publisher.  Simultaneously to be published in Spanish, "El Cuento De Lin"©.   Screenplay adaptation, "Going Places"©. God Would You Hire ME?” “I Already Have©   and the Eight Corner Compass logo are Pending or Registered Trademarks® of Robert Alfred Kutchera, Business Humor Corporation, Boca Raton , Florida , USA . 954-725-0750  

 

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