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Weekly Contest #249
The street flashed by in vibrant pulses. Everything penetrated her soul: every colour hit with a smack, each market shout tasting sharp and sour. Her eyes watered as smears of existence pressed themselves like desperate lovers to the outside of the ancient car, assaulting the windows of her vision in the weak sunlight. The rug shops. The grocers. The market stalls selling the loudest voices, the fairest prices, the hats, the gloves, the meat, the rice, wool, pies, silks, toys, cups, teas, seeds. Red. Green. A horn screamed, but she was alre...
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