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Writing this:
Somewhere, deep under the sleeping town, far beneath the rusted sprinkler and the unswung swing, still deeper than the dreams of dogs dreaming of chasing rabbits, another town woke to a night that was a day. And a man trapped in the amber light of a lonely room heard a sound. A call to action that was a whisper on the night winds. The phantom striking of a clock to mark the unknown hour.
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