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The sun floating high in the noontime sky beats down upon the dusty street as the clock edges closer to midday. From behind you the sound of creaking wood draws attention to the water tower balanced precariously upon the cliff face.
Eyes gaze from the windows, unwilling to join you on the street but unable to ignore the scene playing out in their small town.
As the clock begins to toll time seems to slow, the buzzing of flies becoming distinguishable beats of wings, tumbleweeds hanging impossibly suspended in midair and the squeaky cart wheels from the nearby mine turning into a banshee’s scream.
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