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  • Writer's pictureJeb Brack

Tragic Minifigure of a Man.


Alone, Studs Fedora got the bottle of bourbon from his office. Alone, he went back to his rooms, where he sat and listened to the clock tick and the radiator hiss. In the morning, the sun would come through the window like a thrown yellow brick, and maybe it would strike Studs where he lay on the carpet. But until then, he would sit and drink his whiskey alone.

The End.

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