John had been in the park for over an hour now. when he'd entered he'd been able to see his breath cloud up in front of him as the icy precipitation of the morning air scalded his lips. Now even the dewy grass had lost its glimmer, no longer providing that satisfying crumpling under his feet as the frosty rigidity warmed
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i'm currently writing a story about my favourite vending machine, but i think it maybe to kafkaesque to submit. kafka would have failed my course.
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