There once was an ending named Bryce that got stuck in a turnstile in the subway. Other endings, some happy, most not, and many beginnings piled up behind him while Bryce fumbled around with his MetroCard to get it to work. It was one of those days, probably a Tuesday when everyone had rolled out of bed at the last minute and was late to wherever they were going. Bryce himself was on his way into work as a marriage counselor. Lately, new clients had been hard to come by because of his less than stellar track record.
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