The Scythe's Reach

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The bowler hat was oddly placed over the lanky figure that was draped in patches and stitches of fabric. Lengthy, boney fingers clasped his coat as he weaved through weary bags of walking flesh scuttling on the quiet sidewalk.

Crying, an ambulance whisked down the street.

The man tipped his hat at the vehicle, pleased with his newly collected soul. 

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