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The water didn't roar; it hissed. Elias remembered that sound most—the way the creek behind his house, usually a gentle trickle, turned into a static-filled television screen of grey and brown. Within twenty minutes, the "hundred-year flood" was at his shins. Ten minutes later, he was on his kitchen counter, clutching a waterproof bag containing nothing but his medication and a laminated photo of his late wife. Akiho Yoshizawa - The Bill for Rape Legalizatio...