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Dolly died on my dad’s birthday. I like to imagine him on the welcoming committee, a single malt in hand, grinning, making sure she had a dog at her feet.
Dolly. Big hair, big heart, big everything, rhinestones and razor wit; a woman people laughed at until they realised she was the one telling the joke. Ou Vlam is for her. And for him. And for me.