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... grimy bathroom stall.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the buzzing Eastern District plaza, there was a young man named Theodore Prune that stood quietly near the entry queue for solo participants, his presence about as flashy as a shadow on a cloudy day.
He wasn’t hunched or tense, just there — duffel bag slung over one shoulder, simple but sturdy gear layered over a faded shirt, boots laced up neat with the kind of careful habit you only learn when you can’t afford to replace th ...
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