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Weekly Contest #218
The streets were always noisy, but I never noticed. It was 1:03 PM. The bus was already thirteen minutes late. I looked at my watch again, just to make certain that it still worked. It did. The city was busy as usual; angry taxi drivers stuck in the lunch-hour traffic, men and women hurrying to their next business appointments with their coat-tails flying behind them, and Sam Hedgerson selling his warm, steaming hot dogs on the corner. They never quite smelled fresh, and the color was always slightly more dull than they should have be...
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