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Weekly Contest #91
Stockholm in the evenings was mellow. The park's statues were slowly resigning their copper to green moss bathed in the declining light, and a man sat on a stool outside of a cafe with an emptied coffee cup on the little table in front of him. His mother had just died. It had always struck him as peculiar how small the tables were in Stockholm, how crowded together and impossible to share - on the other hand there was no one to share it with this evening, he noted. Which was still a stranger still; he was never alone these days, always surr...
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