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April 2, 2009

Jim: The Warranty Expired

The man paced the repair shop’s waiting room, nervously stroking his copper hair. He grimaced at the sludge in the Styrofoam cup but sipped anyway. At least it was hot. He stopped to stare momentarily through the single dark window then resumed his pacing.

The mechanic finally entered, the name Hef stitched above the breast pocket of his shabby coveralls. “It overheated again,” he rasped. “All fixed now.”

“About time,” the man replied. He swiped his debit card and collected his keys. Soon the vehicle lifted into the sky, casting the rosy gold of morning on the waking world below.

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