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Lassitude

He looks like he is a hundred years old, and I doubt he can see properly despite the thick soda-butty glasses that cover half his face; there are decade-old wrinkles that hang forlornly over his peering eyes.  He ties a thin red towel over his forehead like a turban. It gives him little protection from the fierce morning sun but it has to do, I suppose. He is always dressed in a white



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Lassitude

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