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Weekly Contest #18
George pulled the battered old duffle coat up and flipped his collar to shield himself from the harsh November wind, cutting through the air into his exposed skin. With the collar so close to his face, George could smell the must that still lingered, despite him airing it for the whole weekend. He always aired clothes he picked up from charity shops. He felt like he could smell the history on them. The person before; their thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams. And then the stagnation of them all as they sit on a rack in the corner of a shop,...
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