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... especially when a brick of a man charges you with a broom like it's a holy sword blessed by the gods of janitorial justice.
First thing I did — as any genius would — was run.
Lina screamed, the old man screamed louder, and me? I vanished down the side alley like a chicken thief in festival season. My heart was pounding in my throat, my bare feet slapped against wet cobblestone, and my brain was already drafting three different escape routes before I even turned the first corner. ...
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