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... o’s lonesome figure in the center. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed as though meditating.

The man made no acknowledgement of my presence. I was sure he was aware.

Looking around awkwardly, I scratched my neck before carefully sauntering right up to him. As much as I wanted to punch his face in, standing before his ’defenseless’ figure, I felt no burning anger or urge to take a shot.

What I felt most clearly was the memory of his blade against my neck. Just as I began rubb ...

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