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The ten-year-old boy who walks into the bar has been here before; his blond hair is mussed from crawling under a tight space, and his blue dress shirt (pants merely khaki dress trousers, today) is a bit dusty.
He blinks at the Bar, irritated expression disappearing into mildly pleased curiousity. This is a way better place to hide from his father than the attic.
He blinks at the Bar, irritated expression disappearing into mildly pleased curiousity. This is a way better place to hide from his father than the attic.