Changing Strings and Other Things

by Sharp Spark

Chapter 1: A Million Dead-End Streets

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At twenty-five, I'd far outgrown the idea of birthdays as being particularly special occasions. Just another day, with the same capacity to be awful as all the rest. This specific birthday was no different.

It started off with waking up way too early to help my roommate move out, and since we lived on the third floor with no elevator, this was far from an easy task. It didn't help that the guy apparently didn't have any friends, meaning it was just the two of us doing all the work. Including the couch. Sigh.

Thank god we were going down instead of up. The guy was lucky that I was nice enough to help. When I saw him drive away in that U-Haul the only thing I felt was relief. To say that we weren’t close is a bit of an understatement... You go into looking for a roommate with such high hopes and starry eyes! When I had got the place last year, I printed up flyers on cheery, bright-green paper and stuck them around coffee-shops throughout the neighborhood. Looking for roommate! I’m mid-20s, male, friendly, a little disorganized but not messy, love music and would love to have someone else to split the rent!

Maybe exclamation points were overselling it. What I got was a brutally disappointing week of dealing with some serious basket-cases. Which meant in turn that I was desperate by the time the guy showed up, even though in terms of what we had in common... well. We were both male and mid-20s. Theoretically we both liked music as well, but I liked music and he liked noise. This wasn’t some sort of holier-than-thou slam on dubstep or anything. Literally noise. Sigh.

Anyways, so, the short of it was that I was happy to see him go. Unfortunately, it didn't take long to remember that I had a roommate for a reason. As much as he got on my nerves, he also paid half the bills. My meager savings would last me a month at most, so I had to find a new roommate, and fast. I was both cautiously optimistic about an upgrade and scared to death about the potential for someone even worse.

So I fell back on my old standby: Never worry about today what you can put off till tomorrow! I had more important things to do – a look at my own watch showed that we had indeed taken longer than I had expected. I needed to meet Daisy at the Café Sucré a few blocks over in just under a half hour, and a quick check confirmed that a few hours of sweaty labor had not done me any favors.

A shower was necessary. I couldn’t just show up at the Café looking like that!


One frantic self-cleansing later, plus some fraught moments of decision before settling on a grey hoodie and khakis, I was on my way to the Café, lightly jogging while trying not to sweat enough to undo the point of showering in the first place.

So naturally I got there five minutes late. But hey – it was my birthday! If there's one day with a built-in excuse for just about anything, it's your birthday.

I saw Daisy seated at my normal table inside, a booth by the door. Unfortunately, she was in my seat. And given her cheshire-like grin when she saw me walk in, it wasn't on accident. I quickly scanned the place, seeing only the normal lunch crowd, and motioned for her to switch places.

“I thought it was first come first served?” she said, grinning.

“Daisy,” I said. “You know I like—”

“Like what?” she asked, innocently.

“Like that seat,” I said firmly.

She rolled her eyes and got up, switching over to the other side of the booth, and allowing me to collapse in my usual place.

As much as she teased me, Daisy is... Well, she’s just the best. She’s a few years younger than me, but we always got along well. At the moment, she was dressed in jeans and a pink jacket of her own, with some sort of stupid pony thing on the front. She still pulled it off well – with her features and her blonde hair cut short she always looked even younger than she was.

But don’t let looks fool you: she’s the best damn drummer I had ever worked with, alternating between a finely-tuned machine and a force of chaos with two sticks. We had met in a band several years back and hung together afterwards. I had always thought of her as the little sister I never had. Or maybe the big sister, given how she watched my back.

We had stuck together through several further iterations of bands, mostly brought down by my own stubbornness. I’m pretty laid back normally, but when it comes to music, I could be a bit of a perfectionist. To her credit Daisy could keep up with one hand tied behind her back, but the others tended to get tired of my attitude and insistence on trying a particular section for the forty-seventh time.

Plus... I have a bad habit of letting my ambitions outstrip even my own ability. I’d played guitar as far back as my memories go, but practice can only get you so far and there are just those times when I’d be going at a hundred miles per hour and my fingers just couldn’t keep up. Perfectionism is hard to justify when you’re not close to perfect yourself.

But Daisy had stuck with me until I had encouraged her to find some other group that would actually stay together long enough to put out something worthwhile (i.e. a band I wasn’t in). Right now she was in some group called Pineapple Thermite that was a little too saccharine for my tastes, but still they were worth listening to for that drummer. I, on the other hand, had been on hiatus for a while, which was making me feel sort of miserable but was probably for the best.

Anyways: Café.

Back to my normal seat I let out a sigh that was half relaxation and half exhaustion. I looked up again, my eyes flickering through the patrons and coming up empty.

“So, birthday boy,” Daisy said, her smile having returned, “got big plans for today, then?”

“Eh.” I shrugged listlessly. “I’ve got to go see Professor Robards this afternoon. He called me up, excited about something, but you know how he gets.”

“No, no, no. I mean celebration plans. Y’know? Party plans!”

I shrugged again and she frowned at me.

“You know...” she said. “You’re lucky that you have me around so that you don’t just wither away out of boredom. It’s your birthday! That doesn’t just happen every day!”

“Yep, it happens generally about once a year.”

“Exactly,” she said, ignoring my sarcasm. “And thus we’re going to go do something. And I have juuuust the thing.” She smiled widely again, one of those grins that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Those were the grins that presaged plans. And the kind of plans she came up with often ended up with catastrophic messes. And fire. And sometimes catastrophic messes that were on fire.

“Oh, no, wait a minute.”

“Tyyyyler,” she said, drawing out my name. “I just mean that we should get out! Go to a club!”

“You know that’s not really my scene,” I said.

“Make an exception for me tonight.” She winked at me. “And I figured... why not try and get you a date too?”

Gears ever-so-slowly turned in my head. A date? Who did Daisy know that she would set me up with? I think all the girls in her band already had boyfriends. Plus she knew better than to just try and throw me together with some random girl... but wait. She was the one who had specified the Café Sucré for lunch, I had eagerly accepted because... No.

“Daisy, you don’t mean...”

She looked at me, her blue eyes filled with nothing but innocence, but that grin, that devilish grin...

It was that moment that I looked up once again and saw that Brooke was indeed working today. She had just come out from the kitchen door, oven mitts holding a pan of piping-hot pastry for the display case. She was, of course, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even in an old white apron dotted with stains. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail except for some few escaping strands, breaking free only to be conquered by the heat and moisture of the kitchen, sticking to her forehead. But that only made her features even more accentuated, those serious eyes, that soft mouth set firmly in a line as she concentrated on her work, but always with the hint of blossoming into a smile...

OK. So, I might have had the slightest bit of a crush on this girl who worked at the Café. And perhaps that meant I came in more often than my finances really found necessary, and possibly that was why my favorite seat allowed me to see most of the restaurant, particularly the display case and counter where all the pastries and sweets were kept.

There’s nothing wrong with that! And there’s definitely no reason to ruin perfectly good – if completely impossible – romantic fantasies by messing with the status quo.

Daisy, apparently seeing my face glaze over, nodded with authority. “Don’t worry, Tyler, I’ll take care of this part too!” She swiveled around in her seat and waved excitedly, catching Brooke’s attention and causing one of her perfectly placed eyebrows to raise inquisitively. Having set down her cargo of delectables, she pulled off her oven mitts and headed our way.

“Daisy!” I whispered in an urgent tone. “This is a bad idea. I am perfectly fine and do not need you to help.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Truuust meeee.”

Brooke suddenly appeared at our table and I smiled nervously, my eyes skittering around, not wanting to look at her, because I knew I’d stare. But then I suddenly realized that not looking at her is also weird, right? I compromised by looking at a point over her right shoulder.

“Uh. Um. H-hi,” I said. Smooth.

“Hiya Twitchy,” she said, teasingly. Yes, I had tried to talk to her a few times before. No. It did not go particularly well. Fortunately, she seemed to think I was funny instead of a total creep. I noticed that my fingers were indeed tapping on the table in an erratic rhythm of their own accord, and willed myself to stop. She thankfully didn't seem to notice, and was looking at Daisy instead. “Did you get a girlfriend?” she asked.

“N-no, uh, this is uh,”

Daisy jumped in, saving me. “Nope! Tyler is still single and eligible. Rawr! In fact, it’s his birthday today!” OK. Or, she poured a bucket of water on a drowning man.

Brooke clapped her hands together. “You don’t say! It’s my birthday too!” She smiled beatifically and I thought I would melt right there. “I’ll have to get you a cupcake. What do you like? Chocolate, vanilla, mint, raspberry...”

“M-m-mint” I said (oh my god I will save this cupcake forever) but Daisy immediately raised a hand.

“Nope!” she said cheerfully. “What you should do is come with us to celebrate tonight, then! We’re going to a club later on, are you interested?”

“A club?” Brooke said. She tapped a finger on her chin. “Well... I don’t know if I have anything appropriate to wear but... Hey, I don’t have any other plans. Your birthday is only once a year, right?”

“Exactly!” Daisy said. “Oh, and... by the way. Do you happen to be dating anyone yourself?” Daisy wiggled her eyebrows in a way that was meant to be suggestive but turned out fairly silly.

Brooke’s own face flushed red, and I felt the heat rising to my own cheeks. She glanced at me for the briefest of seconds, then back to Daisy. “Nope, I’m single,” she stated surprisingly calmly and cheerfully, despite her blush. “Uh, let me give you my number.” In a flurry of action, she pulled a pad from an apron pocket and scrawled out a phone number on it, handing it to Daisy. “I’ll be off at five. Give me a call with the details?”

Daisy nodded, and Brooke retreated back to the pastry counter, my eyes following her all the way back until she disappeared into the kitchen again.

“Who is the best friend?” Daisy said smugly.

“You are the best friend,” I replied. “Couldn’t I get the cupcake too though?”

“Don’t be greedy,” Daisy said, giggling.


At that point things had shifted from “surprisingly OK” to “best day ever”. Sure, Brooke had spent the rest of the time back in the kitchen, working on something or other, but I wouldn't let that dampen my spirits. Unfortunately, there was a lot of day left. After finishing up lunch at the Café with Daisy, I headed out and started walking to the University.

It was a bit of a trek away, but I was pretty used to it by now. I had only just started back in school the previous year, working on a Master’s degree, out of a general dissatisfaction after having my music career run aground and being sick and tired of working retail. Thankfully, I had made it in, even though student loans were one more weight on my shoulders. The only way I was managing was due to Prof Robards giving me a position on his research team that paid well and fit in with my otherwise eclectic school schedule.

Beats me why the guy was so nice, but I wasn’t going to argue. The work itself was actually pretty fun, though it could be a little dry given that most of the time I was sifting through various bones and artifacts. Theoretically I was trying to identify and preserve the stuff that had some sort of archaeological merit. Which... yes, sounds really cool, but you end up looking at a lot of chicken bones that some dog buried and then a kid found and sent in to be checked. Any of the really cool stuff I generally had to pass off to the more knowledgeable research assistants or risk doing more harm than good.

I got to take home a whole bunch of neat arrowheads though!

Like I said, it paid the bills, and I had a lot of bills. I had been talking to Prof Robards about maybe focusing more on the field and directing my studies that way – right now I was just working on a Master of Liberal Studies, which is to say a Master of Would You Like Fries With That, but it gave me the freedom to take any classes I wanted. I was just a little worried that a decision to pursue something further in that field would be me taking the path of least resistance once again, not the result of any real passion for the work.

When I arrived at the campus, it was already midafternoon, and I knew that Prof Robards was prone to skipping out on the lab and just hanging out at his office on sunny days like this. I headed straight there.

To be fair, he has an awesome office. Corner room, fourth story, great view of all of campus. And his building had an elevator. Sure enough, I could tell he was in from the door being open, and made my way inside without hesitation.

The interior was more of a shock. Prof Robards was many things and a great teacher, but organization was not his strong suit. All the wall space that wasn’t composed of window instead housed bookcases filled with books, trinkets, artifacts from previous research and gifts from former students.

But today, things were different. Rather than their normal overflow, they were practically bare – a travesty. I could swear a tiny dust tumbleweed blew across a shelf between the only two remaining volumes. And his desk wasn’t covered in the traditional mounds of paperwork; it had only a few neat stacks, currently in the process of being packed away into a briefcase by the Professor himself.

Upon my entry, and seeing my aghast expression, Prof Robards gave me what was meant to be a reassuring nod, ceasing his packing and stepping around the table to clasp my shoulder.

“There you are, Tyler, good chap,” he said. “And I was beginning to be concerned that we wouldn’t be able to speak in person before I had to leave.”

“Leave?” I said. As unorganized as the Professor could be, he still knew how to keep a schedule. If it was just a conference somewhere, why wait to mention it until now?

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I have good news and bad news. Unfortunately, the good news primarily pertains to myself and the bad news is in closer relation to your own endeavors.”

I just frowned and waited for him to continue.

“Ah, well, you see. I have been offered an opportunity to consult at a recently discovered site in what is modern day Qatar. Tremendously exciting stuff – an important find that could have some implications as to how we understand the societal structure of the tribes of—” He paused at my expression. “Ahem. The long and short of it is that I’m leaving immediately, along with several of my upper-level graduate assistants. Unfortunately, that means the lab staffing will be in a state of flux.”

“Flux?” I repeated. “Wait, so, what does that mean for me?”

“I hate that it comes down to this, but unfortunately it means your position may no longer be available. Professor Whitfeld will be taking over my advisory duties for the duration of my absence...”

I grimaced. Whitfeld.

God, I don't know what I did to the guy, but ever since we first met he had it in for me. It certainly didn't help that after a hellish year in one of his classes, I had made it fairly clear that the animosity was mutual. I think he assumed that I wasn't serious enough about the field, which I found insulting. Sure, I wasn't certain if this was what I wanted to do with my life, but I still put in 100% just like everyone else.

“Oh, don’t worry, my boy,” Prof Robards continued. “Even though he has stood firm on not allowing any non-departmental research assistants, I put in a word with him about trying to find you a position somewhere else on campus. Swing by his office and have a chat, maybe you two can work something mutually beneficial out.”

I rolled my eyes, turning my head as to not let Prof Robards see. “What about you?” I said. “When will you be back?”

“Shouldn’t be more than two, three years. There’s just so much to do!” He laughed with a jolly tone that did nothing to lift my own spirits. No job meant no money and I didn’t think I had a chance in hell at finding something that paid comparably. And Whitfeld wouldn’t help, that’s for damn sure.

I faked a fairly convincing smile and slipped out as Prof Robards turned back to his desk, already jumping right into another rambling discussion of the project. I couldn’t handle listening to it. I had other things on my mind.


The trip back home I spent wrestling with various scenarios, rejecting each in turn. Maybe if I begged Whitfeld? I’d rather live on the streets. What if I did something different, maybe start another band? Cause that worked out so well before, and what I really need is more short-term costs. What if I had a rich uncle who suddenly passed away? ...I wish, but I'd prefer to not both gain and lose family just for the sake of bailing me out of my problems.

Once I got back to the apartment, as soon as I unlocked the door and walked in, I remembered the other complication. The living room looked an awful lot larger without a sofa. And now was definitely not the time to be paying the full rent for a two-bedroom. But my spirits were so low, I couldn’t even bear to start work on looking for someone else. I needed to relax and get my head together.

I trudged into my own room, stepping over a pile of probably-clean laundry. It was small and definitely full, all available wallspace plastered with posters of old bands. My bookcase was there as well, albeit 90% CDs. Even with the mp3 revolution, I had a soft spot for physical media. I’d probably even be into vinyl, had I not been already concerned about the cost of my collections.

But here was what I was looking for. I grabbed my guitar and sat down on my bed with a deep sigh. Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, or so they say. I wasn’t feeling particularly savage, but it truly did calm me down, as I idly began to strum familiar chords.

The clock on my desk caught my eye. 4:52. To think, twenty-five years ago, at just about this exact time, I came into this world. Where would I be in another twenty-five? Hell. Where would I be in a month?

I glared at the clock, thoughts roiling in my mind, before its blinking digital image blurred. My fingers moved, almost subconsciously, picking out a melody.

A melody... that I had never heard before. It was strange, and beautiful.

Sure, I got flashes of inspiration, like anyone else, but this particular song flowed out of me pure and undiluted, without any false notes or moments of hesitation.

Yet, I had never heard it before, of that I was completely sure.

It was unlike any other experience I had ever had.

Suddenly, a finger faltered and a jarring note broke the spell. My eyes snapped back in focus and I saw the clock again. 4:57. Had I really spent five minutes zoned out? I shook my head as if to clear out the cobwebs, and tried to replicate that melody I had just played.

For the life of me, I couldn’t remember how it went.


After more playing began to frustrate me because of my inability to recreate my zen state, I set aside my guitar. Tired and irritable, I sat back for a moment trying to think about some way to solve my many problems. But my train of thought slipped away as I drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Up until someone woke me by banging rather loudly on my front door. Rubbing my eyes, I looked down at my phone, which had about twenty texts from Daisy on it. Of course.

I flicked through them, tapping up a response as I walked to the apartment’s door. <Look Daisy, I don’t know if I can do this, particularly today...> She had her heart in the right place, but I didn't need more stress right now. I could already imagine making a fool out of myself in front of Brooke, or saying something wrong and having her hate me forever, or...

I paused that line of thought. Daisy would be upset, but this was probably for the best...

Then someone pounded on the door again and I realized I was standing right in front of it. Oh, right. I looked up from my phone, message still unsent, and opened it to find myself face to face with... Daisy.

Oh, hell.

She was dressed in some sort of sparkly silver top and a miniskirt, along with some ridiculous boots, and her hair somehow stuck up and out in every direction, like she had put her finger in an electrical outlet.

I groaned. “Daisyyy...”

“Nope!” she said, firmly. “No excuses. Or, actually,” She smiled deviously and stepped aside, “if you don’t want to go, you have to tell her yourself.”

Behind her I saw Brooke waiting in the hall. It was the first time I had really seen her outside the restaurant, wearing normal clothes. She wasn’t all-out like Daisy was, but whoo. If I had it bad when she was in an apron, the sight of her with her hair down and comfortably dressed in a purple blouse and jeans just about did my heart in. She waved at me and I thought at least I would die happy.

“Guh. Uh. B-b-but. Clothes,” I stammered, making a cogent point.

Daisy looked me up and down, noting that I was still wearing the hoodie and khakis from before. “Not ideal, but it’ll do.”

Brooke spoke up. “I think you look fine, Twitchy.” I could feel the goofy smile float across my face. Sure, she was still calling me “Twitchy” but baby steps, right?

“Now let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Daisy grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the apartment, barely giving me time to lock up before we were gone in a whirlwind.


The club was as clubs are. Which is to say: loud, dark, and full of drunk people. Given the circumstances, and given my propensity to break out into garbled stutters when under the effects of acute Brooke exposure, I figured that it wouldn’t hurt for me to join in, and I got drinks for myself and the girls. Money problems be damned: It was suddenly the best day ever again.

Sure enough, it did help somewhat, and the comparative darkness and loud music meant I could sneak glances at Brooke without being totally creepy. She seemed to be having a good time, albeit a little out of place compared to Daisy and some of the other people there to really party.

Before long Daisy ditched us to go dance, which was actually probably pretty sweet of her. Good drummer best friend. It left me and Brooke awkwardly standing around though, causing me to wrack my brain for a way to start a conversation. We were in a dark corner that was less crowded, and even though the booming music was ever-present, it was subdued enough there to be able to talk without having to completely shout.

I started to say something sappy about her eyes or similar but the logical part of my brain shot that down pretty fast. Not enough liquid courage. “You uh want another drink?” I said.

She smiled and shook her head no, and I hurriedly walked off to the bar by myself.

“Give me something strong,” I told the bartender. He was a big guy, bald, and looked like he drank vodka like I did water. And possibly then broke the glass over his head and wrestled a bear just to prove his manliness. He looked me straight in the eyes questioningly and I did my best to stare him down.

Apparently it worked, cause he shrugged and poured up a shot of... something. I don’t know what it was but it tasted like paint thinner and burned all the way down, settling in my stomach like a hot coal.

Now, I should mention I don’t drink very often. And that despite a large lunch I had practically skipped dinner. And that I’m an idiot.

So I could definitely feel the alcohol wasting no time at all going to my head, but it brought less confidence than wooziness. My goal was clear though. I made my way back to Brooke, still standing alone with a soft smile on her face as she looked out at all the people dancing. I could see Daisy moving out there like a miniature hurricane, glittering the whole way.

“Oh, er,” I said. Not ideal.

Brooke looked up at me.

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” I said. Better.

Brooke nodded. “It’s fun to get out, even if I’m not normally a big fan of clubbing. Do you two do this often?”

I scratched my head. “Not me, but Daisy is a little more wild.”

Brooke cocked her head to the side and looked out at the dancers again. “Yeah. She seems... very excitable.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, nodding. “But she’s really way more responsible than you’d think. If it weren’t for her, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

“So you’ve known each other a long time?” she said.

“Quite a while, yeah. She’s great. Really, uh, great.”

With that display of eloquence I trailed off again, Brooke watching Daisy, and me vainly trying to think of an appropriate way to continue the conversation, leaving us both silent for several long minutes as one loud thumping song switched to a slightly different one, and then back to one that easily could have been the first.

My stomach roiled. It was definitely not sitting well, and nervous jitters plus alcohol were not working out for me. Suddenly I was acutely aware of the taste of saliva in my mouth. The thumping beat of the music seemed to jar my brain with each pulse.

Finally, I made up my mind. Now or never. She agreed to come with us, so I wasn’t crazy, right? I wasn’t reading into something I had just made up. And she seemed to like me well enough, even with me being normally tongue-tied around her. “Twitchy” could be a cute pet name! Telling myself all this, I knew I had to say something.

“So—” “Hey—” At the same time we both spoke up. Damnit.

She smiled sweetly at me. “You first,” she said.

I felt like I was sweating bullets. My previous thought had flown out of my mind, which is fine, because it was probably just to say how beautiful her eyes were and ugh again? I should really get off of that, but they’re really pretty eyes. My stomach tightened. I should just stick with something neutral, just... I couldn’t let the chance slip away.

“So, uh, I guess this is sorta weird for both of us, huh?” I said. “Clubbing, that is! Maybe, uh. Well, if you aren’t doing anything, would you like to maybe get dinner somewhere on Friday? It might be a little more uh quiet and a chance to... y’know... ... talk,” I finished lamely.

I could see her eyes widen and her mouth open a little in surprise.

“Oh, um. That’s...”

It seemed as if my vision was narrowing, losing its periphery and focusing in on her alone, as my stomach did backflips. Stomachflips?

“Well, Twitchy, I appreciate the gesture and all, but um. See... I don’t really... like guys.” Her voice trailed off behind the loud music, but it seemed like I could read her lips just fine. Her eyes refused to meet mine.

Her face turned red again as she opened her mouth once more. “I was actually just going to ask you... Do you know if Daisy is seeing anyone?”

It was about then that my stomach decided enough was enough, and I threw up. Partially on Brooke.


After that point I don’t remember much. Other than apologizing way more times than necessary, trying to clean myself up, and then somehow managing to talk that bartender into several more of those paint-thinner drinks.

I woke up on the floor of my apartment, face down in the living room.

Seriously. Worst day of my life.

Upon waking, it felt as if my mouth was filled with glue and my head with explosions. And my bladder with... well, y’know, the normal for there. After peeling my face off of the carpet, I stumbled to my feet, valiantly fighting gravity. My victory carried me to the bathroom, albeit with the help of holding onto a wall just about the whole way. I fumblingly discarded my pants as I went, somehow managing not to get them off on the way without tripping.

As I entered the bathroom, clinging to the door frame, I hit the light switch and immediately grimaced as the fluorescent lights caused my vision to explode in stars once again. Screwing my eyes shut, I sat down on the toilet. I didn’t want to piss all over my bathroom and I felt that was a distinct possibility at the moment. Good job brain, maybe you're not entirely worthless after all.

After a moment of blissful relief, I looked down, my head in my hands.

Let's take inventory, shall we?
No job.
No roommate.
Absolutely, positively, definitely no girl.

What else could possibly go wrong with my life right now?

Yeah, I really thought that. If fate was giving me a middle finger, I’d return the favor. Come at me, bro.

It was then I noticed a flash of color at the edge of my vision, something on my thigh, way high up, almost to my hips and butt, but on the side. Wait. On both sides.

There was... some sort of gold harp. Yep. Definitely a harp, with three strings. And not tiny... pretty damn large.

I had some sort of tattoo.





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