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Weekly Contest #138
EVIAN There was always cloud. It was low and sometimes you could imagine you could reach up and brush your fingertips through the underside of it, but even if you could, it would only waft briefly. It would never go. Olders told us stories of days when the sky was high and blue and the clouds were like the sheep on the hill, but fluffy and white, not matted and dirty as they are. Frankly, none of us really believed those tales. Some Young’Uns said they had seen pictures with blue skies but pictures were fantasy – we were all taught that ea...
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