The protagonists [...] have been on a boba tea kick lately and their reviews are incredibly mixed. Once I sniff out the loyalists from the betrayers, I’ll know exactly whose character arc needs a sudden, violent plot twist.
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So you start carefully counting how many days you can go without a job. And every second, the clock ticks, and the countdown continues.
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Two African paradise flycatchers, grey-headed and chestnut-winged, decide to join in the revelry and warble as they flit in and out of the guava tree that spreads over most of the lawn.
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Sue me. I’d rather defend my artistic cruelty in court than mandate a happy ending.
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Macbeth was written yesterday, Macbeth is being written today, and Macbeth will be written tomorrow.










