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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2024
Submitted to Contest #274
On a cold Sunday morning, in the season where all is expected to die, and everything actually does, while the river carries the grime of the corpses in an unending rain, the streets of the open market fill up with an other kind of grime, a much more unsettling kind of grime, the living grime of man. Oh old and young! Disheveled or well-offs! Men or women equally disgraced! You, you my interesting bunch all gather here, dressed in full jackets and wearing your closed faces, to buy so many sorts of produce, dictated by a sort of necessity...
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