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“This is it,” Tyler says, pointing to Granny Margo Magenta’s downtown Art studio. The cab’s blinker sounds, tin-tink,
tin-tink, tin-tink. The cabby pulls toward the curb, stopping abruptly.
“That’ll be $8.50.”
Tyler jumps out, hands a ten spot to the driver through the window, and says, “Keep the change.” The cab speeds away. Tyler dashes across the street to the old theater entrance. Saved from a wrecking ball and remodeled, it smells of oil paints and turpentine, like perfume and buttered popcorn. |
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