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Weekly Contest #272
The weather was inclement now. More inclement than when the house had burned down. He supposed it was something to do with the train station. His eyes wandered past the usual galleries of muted colour; muffled tones of grey cement and pallid blues streaked across great snaking trains. The distinct aromas of creosote and hot electricity that wafted about and always made his nostrils weak. The metallic voice of the female PA announcer, whose robotic monotone played over and over in the minds of passers-by like a distant m...
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