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Weekly Contest #362
“This is a celebration to new beginnings,” Sinclair smiled proudly, standing behind the podium with his champagne glass that had been begging for a refill for the umpteenth time tonight. More like he had been begging. He stood there before everyone, hair disheveled like he’d been restlessly running his fingers through it, and his tie hanging loose as his button-down revealed part of his chest. He was a mess. A part of me felt bad—something in my chest twisted as I watched him up there—but I pushed the feeling aside because it didn’t matter...
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