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Weekly Contest #292
Babou was really tired of the cape, which is perhaps why he retaliated, shredding the lithographs at the gallery in Paris. The damn thing was always sweeping and swirling about, a phantom threat which always seemed to arrive without warning. It always caused him to cringe, and his hair to bristle for fight or flight. The evenings were always better, when the cape was draped across an armchair like a deflated black cloud,and its owner was occupied with fanciful musings or attending to his signature moustache, twisted and uplifted in a s...
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