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“Same as it ever was”, he thought to himself as he left their house and slammed the door shut. Finally there, shovel in hand, he began to dig. “That’s enough” he thought, and traipsed back to their car. He climbed up and slammed the door shut. He left. Sun set; he set. Sun rose; he rose. Out of the house, into the car, onward. Back again, he continued digging. The pile seemed to be constant; everyday, no more, no less — but not today. He climbed in, and decided to stay home that day. “Same as it ever was”, it read.

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