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Weekly Contest #174
The piano keys felt like ice cubes on Henry’s fingers. It was a sensation he had grown used to with time, like stepping out of a hot morning shower in a cold house. He needed to warm up, but as the keys had reminded him, so did the piano. An antique mahogany spinet piano took only a gentle touch. They had been learning about each other for the last six years, starting on Henry’s fifth birthday, when this one made its first appearance. A piano for the brothel, his father had called it at the time. Henry hadn’t known what that meant, a...
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